As I tore home, 
skimming kerbs 
car flanks 
and gutter spill 
on my bike, 
two trucks thundered by. 

Heat bulged from them. 
Thin, light cords 
pinned down 
their cargo of silvering straw, 
as if restraining 
huge exotic beasts, 
destined for show, 
or slaughter. 

Dwarfed, 
made child-like again 
I gave chase 
and, as the 
motors squealed and 
whooshed to a stop 
at Phibsboro lights, 
snatched a fistful 
of booty. 
Only to find it chill 
in the night air, 
scrag-ends of memory