Aurem tuam, quaesumus, Domine, precibus nostris accommoda…
O’Brien’s Public House was first erected
The year that Eden got it’s seedlings down
Through sheer imagination. Derelict, odd,
And sitting in its corners, older men
Bedecked in shabby tweed and stale tobacco
Are gazing out its single weary window –
As if their youth were waiting half a mile
And forty years back down the road. They smile
And sip from chipping tumblers full of Tullamore –
To irrigate their eyes. This sixteenth day
Of Advent lets their silence have its say:
“Nostalgia’s pulled at my leg but can pull n’more
My ear. Just let a fellow follow through –
He’ll seek out nothing wiser than his due.”
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