It was the time of Afton and Albany,
Joe O’Neill’s band and the Adelaides,
hay forks sharing pub windows
with Daz and Persil; the Smithwicks sign
and the Harp sign, half-ones of Guinness.
It was a time of pipe-smoking
beneath naked bulbs and neon strips,
the priest in his cassock,
Hillman Hunters, Ford Corsairs,
Wilkinson Swords and Fruit Gums.
Of scarved heads at mass, berets,
the Messenger and the Far East,
dress-makers and blacksmiths;
hollowed faces in the County Home,
yanks, spick and span, in the sitting room.