Cave

The rifled honeycomb
of the high-rise hotel
where a wind tunnel moans.
While jungleclad troops
ransack the Falls, race
through huddled streets,
we lie awake, the wide
window washed with rain,
your oval face, and tide
of yellow hair luminous
as you turn to me again
seeking refuge as the
cave of night blooms
with fresh explosions.

© John Montague, Cave, 1975, complete text, Collected Poems, 1995, The Gallery Press.

John Montague’s simple poem describes two people in a hotel in Belfast listening to the trouble in the streets around the lower Falls Road, where soldiers are searching houses.