Poem by Rua Barron.
I look up. Its grey. Lovely old Dublin.
Angular, box like But grey.
The architecture cuts.
The Blandiceture cuts the low cloud coverage. Elite, stylish and modern for its time. Changed.
Grey tall buildings but not as big as you see in movies which makes it all the less appealing. Jagged glass panes should invite us in but to tell what story.
We watch a plump pearly pigeon fly above the red daggers poking up from beneath the man made foot path and land on the halcyon mirrored building.
Graceful if they weren't so greedy.