Megan O’Driscoll

Megan O’Driscoll lives in North Dublin. You can read some of her recent work in Icarus and An Áitiúil Anthology. She is the editor in chief of Sweet Tooth. She likes trying her best, taking it easy and keeping it real.


i sit outside and watch the bees work.

i sit outside and watch my friends smoke.

i sit outside and it’s just like heaven with the

openwindowspancakemorning, laughing in our stocking feet, you know how it is.


there’s a party nextdoor and the neighbours don’t complain. there’s a party nextdoor and we are the neighbours!

you’re a party nextdoor,

so i sleep with my windows open,

dreaming you’ll turn up on my doorstep.


we party like there are no more pieces left to put together: pulling our

own pints behind the bar,

passing around poppers and plastic

bags, making the world’s best cheese toastie,

at half past midnight.


nothing is embarrassing.

so we’re gonna do every thing:

i’m gonna tell you every thought i’ve ever had.

i’m gonna rip it all up and start again, man.

i’m going to be sick in the sink.


when we wake up not everything will be okay:

the good parts of my brain might be running on fumes, i might start to believe in carceral solutions

to the problem of me being a huge fucking embarrassment, but the bed is soft and the couch is big enough if we squeeze.


look, i know i’ve got some wires crossed,

but for one morning in one house

there are pancakes full of strawberries

and a gardenful of wildflowers

and a tableful of us.


there is sick all over the patio

and i am so happy.

Bed of Stars

Lay me down in this bed of stars and tell me that the night will hold me. No more falling. Love me up here. We are going to live a very long time and then longer still. Everything that’s going to happen will happen eventually and is happening now in its own small way. Most things I do in my own small way. We don’t live in the end of stories we live in right now and right now and right now. I want to populate my personal series of right nows with you, please. Two trains pull into the station at once. They’re going in opposite directions. The moon spins past the sun and without knowing, blocks it out in a one of a kind night time where I can see your face in the dark before lunchtime. They have an equal number of red apples and green apples in the shop today, but I don’t realise because I don’t count the apples. I buy one of each. There are enough tired people voting in today’s election to win some victory for the workers. Things get a little better. I notice the house I walk past on my way to the station has a little tomato plant. It notices me back. The tomatoes were all green and now they’re all red. Sunlight feels warm on my face these days. It must be spring again soon. I’m getting on the train to see you again. When I put my hand in yours, you will put your hand in mine too.