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