BROTHER KEVIN’S DINNERS
(on the occasion of his receiving
the Freedom of Dublin City)
Half of those at Brother Kevin’s dinners
are on drugs, says the Lord. And sure why not?
They’re there for company as much as grub.
And they have such small appetites except
for joints and temple black and crack cocaine
and the harder gear that makes the quicker stiff.
The stiffs who quicken towards my Pearly Gates
have been cared and catered for by Brother Kevin
and on account of that he’s on the way
to the three stages of canonization
from venerable to blesséd and to saint.
But that won’t happen till I call him home
and doesn’t puff the plucky friar up
no more than sharing Dublin City’s freedom
with a famous footballer has turned his head.
Those Brother Kevin feeds, spaced out or not,
are welcome at my supper too, says God.
© Ciaran O'Driscoll 2015
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