Tuesday, 01 September 2009




Drinking  Irish, that was your
Grandmother: a Catholic
Rollicking in puritan
Wales. Drunk or sober, disliked
Your father - no love between
Those two. St Patrick’s Night was
The night for drinking, of all
The drinking nights of the year.
Drunk she came home and missed the
Bucket; pissed on the floor and
Stained the ceiling, a map of
Ireland for those below.
Said: ‘Leave it. Teach the bitch a

                Left it was, for year
After year. Grandmother died.
That ceiling remembered her;
Father still hated her noisy
Ghost. Then, six months back, he said:
‘Repaint it! Why must we live
With the old bag’s mark?’ You were
Silent, thinking: ‘Poor father,
Cleaning up, ready to go.’


This site was last updated 01-09-2009