Sitting with my father in the pub
Was like sitting with a teacher in the Temple
I listened to his every word
The words I heard were gold
I valued them and stored them
In a pulpit they were retold
My father wasn’t garrulous
But easy company
He loved to tell a story
All the same
Sociable and affable
But solid as they come
He played at centre half
Knew how to play the game
He wasn’t one for moaning
That’s just a waste of breath
He’d seen too much of everything
He’d seen too much of death
This life is meant for living
That’s what he meant to do
Will we have another one?
We supped a favoured brew
Today Saint Joseph comes to mind
A man described as just
Zaddik the word in Hebrew
A righteous man no fuss
He hears an angel’s message
Considers in the heart
And cares for Mary and her child
Accepts and plays his part
My father had a word for it
This quality of life
There is nothing like being ‘proper’
No matter what the strife
To live your life the proper way
Treat others just the same
I heard him tell me in the pub
Well, Brian, same again?
Brian Fahy
18 December 2021
Erris Poetry 