Boyne Writers Group

BOYNE WRITERS GROUP
Trim, County Meath, Ireland
held a

Competition for satirical work (prose or poetry)

in commemoration of Jonathan Swift, the author of such works as Gulliver's Travels, A Tale of a Tub, A Modest Proposal, who was a politically powerful figure - an early personification of what we would nowadays call a Spin Doctor - in the England of the late 1600s, early 1700s. His pen was said to be the mightiest sword in the land.

RESULT

First: Ira Nayman, Ontario, Canada. Poem: Love Amid The Construction.

Second: Fin Keegan, Westport, Co Mayo. Prose: The Best of Times, the Worst of Times.

Third: Tommy Murray, Trim, Co Meath. Poem: A Time when we were Inclined . . .

The judge, John Murray of RTE said: "My choices were based on two main criteria - simplicity and creativity. The other entries, I felt, were a little confused, and meandering. There was very little in it between the top two but what decided it for me ultimately was the extent to which the two entries addressed the subject, and in this, Love Amid The Construction emerged the winner."

The first prizewinner, Ira Nayman, is a comic writer/performer/cartoonist. His Les Pages aux Folles Web site is a showcase for his political and social satire, among other things. His two books in print, Alternate Reality Ain't What It Used To Be and What Were Once Miracles Are Now Children's Toys contain a unique form of humorous science fiction journalism.

The following were shortlisted:

Xenia Schiller, USA, The House Always Wins
Peter Goulding, Dublin, A Hard Rain
Connie Roberts, USA, A Modest Proposal
Oliver McDonagh, Meath, Gulliber's Travels
Frank Murphy, Meath, The Red Eye to Cancun
Mary McCall, Dublin, Land for Sale
Gaberiel McDonnell, Meath, The Best of Times, The Worst of Times

The Winning Entry:

Love Amid the Construction

Two faces pressed up against
A long, cold, sober chain link fence
Are rapt in awe at what lies before them.
You might see a gaping hole in the ground,
But they have visions of structures meant to astound
People too dull (or jaded, or busy) to adore them.

Their hands meet briefly, then withdraw
Not wanting anything . . . human to diminish their awe.
"It is beautiful, is it not?" he asks at length.
The woman slowly nods her head without a word.
To try to express what she is feeling would be absurd,
Would greatly diminish the moment's strength.

She is a corporate attorney (an attorneyess?);
If you can afford her fee, she can get you out of any mess.
(It's true that she has represented many jerks.)
He is a security guard
Who toils vigilantly for a very little reward,
But the job occasionally has perks.

"Would you like to go in?" the man quietly asks.
(Guarding construction sites is one of his typical tasks.)
The woman turns to him, her eyes quite wide.
Dare she, dare she, dare she feel hope
That she'll see things up close thanks to this dope?
She whispers, "Yes," and is quickly ushered inside.

She knows it's wrong, but nothing can fix her
Being turned on by the cement mixer,
Even though it will make a mess of her fashion.
Then, just as it appears she's had her fill,
He kisses her by a dark mechanical drill
And ignites her deeply felt - though secret - passion.

Yes, passion! Some people enter its throes
On construction sites that are slated to become condos,
Or malls, or office buildings, or other markers of urban growth.
There, in the mud next to a pile of pipes,
They make their impassioned yips, yaps and yipes,
And take their loud - and, yet unspoken - lover's oath.

The couple finds, to their surprise,
Their love grow at the building's rise
As they make love on ever higher floors.
When in conflict, they fall in love again
By making out in the shadow of a tall crane,
Or in a closet full of drywall stores.

Is it just a form of recreation,
Having passionate sex in a symbol of a city's constant act of self-creation?
If so, they do not want more.
If she were to eventually become a mother,
It would, their passion, completely smother,
And their exciting lives would just become a bore.

And, yet . . .

The housing market is going down, down -
Construction is slowing all around town.
And, while, to most, this would be something slight to keep in mind,
It is a blow from which our sad lovers
Will find that they can't recover,
As to a - completed, functional - shopping mall the man is reassigned.

They do it there, they do it here,
They make love near construction gear,
But the couple can't help but be let down by it.
The mud on their clothes, the wind in their hair,
The messiness of being on a construction site bare
Is a unique thrill no one can understand until they try it!

With lessening frequency they will arrange trysts by text,
But they are rapidly losing interest in their sex -
The economic downturn is to blame.
One night, when they both lose their heads
They even try making love in a bed,
But they agree it just is not the same.

The lovers find there is no thrill
In the silence of a looming but idle drill.
So, drifting apart, they begin to count the cost.
Stalled construction sites are just big holes in the ground
With not working machinery sadly sitting in the background,
Reminding a pair of lovers of what they've lost.

Two faces that thought they'd seen a jewel,
Let down by their city's inconstant renewal;
They never imagined it wasn't going to last forever.
So they go their separate ways,
But they will always have memories of those thrilling days
When man, woman and construction came together!