TIPPERARY MARY 1963

AN IRISH GIRL AND HER DAY AFTER CONFESSIONS ONE SATURDAY IN 1963

Mary Moran rolls a cigarette
between fingers and thumbs,

liberated tobacco and paper
from her da's pocket,

if he knew he'd belt her behind,

she licks the paper end
with her damp tongue,

rolls it thin and lights it up
with a Swan Vesta stole
from her ma's kitchen box,

Magdalene she'd met
at the coffee bar
had a laugh talked
of Sister Bridget and the priest
and some going ons,

sweet Mags gazed at her
placed a hand on her thigh
talked of her da,

the smoke rises
from the ciggie skyward
cloud like,

Martha sat sipping her coffee
fingering her rosary
in the bar like Brian
fingers my bra strap
the loon,

Mary knows what
Brian is after
he's more chance
of the pox than that
she muses watching
the smoke twirl
as it touches the roof
of the greenhouse glass,

if Da found me now
he'd tan my a*s
she muses inhaling
deeper lungful drag,

the priest in confessions
(the old boy)nigh on
had a heart attack
when she confessed
the weeks worth,

spluttering she heard
through the wire mesh
of the confessional,

Magdalene wants me
to go listen to LPs
on her record player
in her room away
from her da and ma
and their moans and groans,

Martha with her blue eyes
stared at the crucifix
on her rosary
like a lovesick cow
as they sipped their coffee
and yakked
of the priest and nun
and imagined fun.