He spoilt her. That man.
Nine years after Dad died.
Re-kitted out her wardrobes.
She bought couture coats, scarves,
tall, long-legged leather boots,
burned new gold, autumnal;
braided in seasonal colours,
burgundies and bronze.
Finally found a man who cherished her.
Let her shine. And shine she did,
a glowing goldfinch, as his days dimmed.
They road-tripped across Ireland.
There’s a photo;
her stood in some pub in Tipperary,
Guinness pints, centre stage on an upturned barrel;
her, him and another couple,
raising a glass, living it up,
doing the things she never did with Dad
letting life flow, chasing fun,
speeding in her mate’s fiancé’s flash car,
round the Ring of Kerry, hitting, one after another,
those colourful, shack-like bars.
