A drinking man
Sitting in an old, damp boozer
Brasses polished, leathers gleaming,
Wood, dark mahogany, glows.
In the dark daylight lamplight
Watching, now, the snow flakes tumble
Out of a heavy sky
Nature's green, and man's concrete grey
Gradually evolving into this whiter
Shade of pale.
Yes, a pint of porter's your only man
Nobody dares to disturb
This chapel of rest
Except when one of the four
Drag themselves into the doorway,
Tipping their hat at the rule of law,
And drawing on their second
Sweet Afton of the day,
As the hangover slips away,
A pint of St James's Gate Guinness
And a large Jameson whiskey
If you please landlord
He remembers The Dead
The final paragraph of James
Augustine Aloysius Joyce's final
Story in Dubliners: snow falling
All over Ireland
All over the living and the dead.
He shivers slightly
Somebody walking over my grave,
He thinks, as he sips his whiskey
And swallows the stout.