Happenstance – Shelley Corcoran & Margaret Nohilly

Happenstance by Margaret Nohilly

He sat beside me as the Luas, sardine-packed,
whirred out from Connolly: broad-built, calm,
a cross between my father and any countryman
you’ve ever met at ease with women.

Day trippers, dripping wet, both come from
Longford: he in overcoat and cap, en route
to have his hearing aids assessed, me set to journey
on to visit family, we chatted of the benefit

the travel-pass affords and parted at the stop.
Next morning at the checkout in a Longford store,
a flash of recognition – face to face again,
each tickled at the trick of total strangers being

twice in such proximity, we smiled and spoke
of chance; shared anonymous yet intimate regard.
As I record the incident in print, he likely winds
the yarn in Derryharrow or Dromard.