The maintenance manager

DS Maolalai

the burn and the tan, the bruise

and the beautiful tuesdays outside. circling

housing estates, like a dog taming tick-

bitten sheep. I’m driving—it’s boiling,

the AC is broken. my back is a shadow

of sweat on the seat and it dries off from wetness

to stink as I pull in and examine my various stops.

and the radio broken as well as the fan—

I drive in the loud hum of tires on motorways

rolling and wind through the windows

which hits like a coffee. drive to balbriggan—

lusk and the laurels estate. an ash end of picturesque

broken kneed countryside, to look at cracked drains

and barely moving gate-motors. this is the job—

maintaining of common space property

in apartment blocks and housing estates

left out from the government’s wing. it gets you

outside. at one point it’s beautiful, even—

a field drops to the left, cliffs and the horizon

is the mismatching blue of a bruise around bandages

on a badly sprained ankle, peeking past white into view.