This piece, by Eoghan Lyng, is written about visiting the Guinness factory in 2014 - a museum that secluded itself from the recession outside.
We raise a toast together over a window seat,
We greet a pathway which makes way for recessionary
Feelings, meaning the streets are mixed badly.
The foam has covered the soles, controlled,
Working through the darkened streets,
Wetter cars halt in their tracks.
Money exchanged, drained guides
Cannot hide how much money conceals.
Those feelings cater, waver their stance,
Enhanced by a free pint of black,
Foamed taste hastes the cold street outside.