The old bar stool

 The old bar stool

The pint of plain’s his drink

Followed by a chaser

Three or four each evening 

As regular as a postman. 

The doctor would advise

Against this alcohol 

But he hasn’t seen the doctor

Since he cut his knee aged five. 

The bar man, solid fellow

Pulling pints for forty years

Whose father was a  lookout

For Paddy our daily drinker

He’d bring the wife around

For a drink on Sunday 

A sweet medium sherry

Would last all the evening. 

He stepped well clear of politics,

He didn’t keep opinions 

He reasoned the room was full already

Of certainties from wealth to stealth. 

Besides he often reasoned

His views wouldn’t tilt the spinning world

Nor check the excesses in faraway lands

Or in nearby Leinster House. 

His handsome stomach spread 

Over many days and years

Propping up the counter

Untroubled by fashion or comment. 

We’ll raise a drink this Christmas

Since the pubs are closed

To Paddy beloved of the Anvil Bar

Til we meet again in the New Year.