Look after your liver

at lunch, when I say

“I'm going out tonight”,

my mother says mildly “well,

then look after your liver"

and then asks, as if

she's been chewing

the question, what is it I do

when I’m out –

is it just "pick up girls"

(her expression) or what?

I lie to my plate of lasagna

and say "only sometimes"

and then tell the truth –

that it's tougher in Ireland.

Toronto was easy – there

I had an accent. at home

all I have is a voice.

she nods and puts both

of our meals on her credit card. later

she picks out a couple of shirts

and says I can wear them to job interviews.

it's true, though.

the girls get tougher to take home

when you're at home.

it seems like nobody

goes to bars alone anymore

just looking out

to get picked up

by a fresh-faced guy

who just got back

with stories. my soul is rotten

without any company,

drunk

and sweating on the bedsheets.

my liver can take care of itself.

it will have to,

with so much else to worry me.

D.S. Maolalai

ABOUT THE POET:

DS Maolalai has been described by one editor as "a cosmopolitan poet" and another as "prolific, bordering on incontinent". His work has been nominated fourteen times for BOTN, eleven for the Pushcart and once for the Forward Prize, and released in three collections; "Love is Breaking Plates in the Garden" (Encircle Press, 2016), "Sad Havoc Among the Birds" (Turas Press, 2019) and “Noble Rot” (Turas Press, 2022).