|
|
|
YOUR GRANDMOTHER’S MARK
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.
Dad
Said: ‘Leave it. Teach the bitch a
Lesson.’
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.’
|