By Fiona Sherlock

Did Paddy Kavanagh ever write a poem on a Monday?

My grandaunt told of how filthy his collar was,

Propped up the bar in the Hibernian Club,

There but for the grace of his lines.

A crème de menth for a quote,

A pint of stout for a story

A currency lost

For a tip from Nama

Or a pointer from Seany