Down Squires Lane
The Irish people gathered
The coppers went in twos
On Friday nights
A pub down there
Known as Polly Smith’s
To wet your whistle
Put the world to rights
My granddad
When he got home
From the pit
Would send my dad
A lad them times to fetch
A jug full of ale
To quench his thirst like
Just round the corner
Wasn’t any stretch
My dad was just a boy
But thought he’d try it
Have a sip to see
What beer was like
He did this a few times
Without comment
Until the day
My granddad chose to strike
Michael, when you going
For that beer
Keep an eye on Polly
When she pours
I think she’s giving you
Short measure
Just keep an eye out
Just make sure
Tha knows
My father laughed
In telling me this story
How kindly of his father
Not to scold
Instead to let him know
He knew the score
Bring home full measure
Now the story’s told
Brian Fahy
11 June 2021
Erris Poetry 