God's Foreman. Poem by Neil Gray

Drinking at 3 am
in the
Sacred Heart
and Danny
raise's a toast
to the memory
of his Father.

'To my Da'.
Who taught me
3 things.
Always look further
than you can see,
Never back down
and show the
bastards weakness
and if all else fails
just shout
Up yer Bollocks
at the World.'

I liked his Old Man.

He was one of the last.

A dying breed.

He'd come to this
country in the day's
when the doors
of all the boarding
houses were closed
to his kind.

When the signs still read
'No Irish, No dogs,
No Blacks.'

They lived in the slums
and went too work at 15.

Down the mines
until Thatcher stopped that
but he didn't let
it crush his spirit.

He was never
unemployed for more
than a fortnight
at a time
and had no truck with
those that claimed
there was no work
out there.

'It's there,
you just
have to travel
to find it
my boy.'

A proud man.

A family man.

Taking whatever
he could
and breaking
his back
each day.

He always made sure
that they had clothes
on their backs,
food on their table
and the one thing
he'd never had.

A chance.

He sent 5 of them
through University.

Gave them the
education he'd been deprived
and was at every
graduation
no matter where in the country
his quest for a job
had taken him.

And when
time finally caught
up with him
and forced
him into
retirement
he chose
to spend the remainder
of his days
sitting in his
favorite pub,
playing cards
and
passing on
the story
of his life.

Which is where I met him.

'Here.' said Danny
'He wanted you
to have this'

'It's his St.Christopher'

'Aye' Danny smiled
'he always said
out of all of us
you were the one
who needed divine intervention
the most'

I placed it around
my neck
and raised my glass.

'To your Da'.' I said
'God's Foreman.
Up there now
telling the Angels
their not working hard enough'