ROSE REMEMBERS.
I don’t suppose he’d remember that now although he ought always to remember as long as he remains alive and has breath in his body and a brain cell in his head and often when you see him passing the window and his wife (poor bitch) is on his arm and the kids follow (five is it now?) and you think that could have been me there on his arm and they could have my kids following on behind although you’d dress them better and he’d not be so scruffy and she (the poor cow) might have found some other more her type and maybe then she’d not be so down at the mouth and tired looking and always having to fetch him from the bar and him being less sober now than he’s ever been and occasionally he gives you the smile and wink and you think if only it could have been different but if onlys does nothing for you anymore life is full of if onlys and they’re as cheap has the bitch on Finn’s arm passing by and you alone with no one at least not since Patrick went off to London and never showed his arse again and good riddance so they say and so do you in your moody blue days and sometimes at night you hug the pillow where he use to lay real tight and kiss it and you can still smell his body scent even though you‘ve washed the pillowcase more times than you care to think and not a fellow in your bed since not male body to hug close to or kiss or allow between your thighs just you and the poor old bear Patrick won for you at the fair all ragged now with an ear missing where Patrick bit it off in one of his drunken rages when he thought you were seeing Finn behind his back and in his bed but you weren’t no such luck no such joy and sitting back in the chair now by the window a glass of port in your hand and cigarette between fingers you wonder on Finn and that time you had together and the laughs you had and the way he had with a girl and the things he did and how he did them and the joy he could bring the female flesh and the drink you shared and the time in the hay barn with the mice and noises and the heat and hay and Finn bless him all over you like it was his birthday all over again and you giggling and him sniggering over the hay itching his arse and the mice scattering for their dear lives and you thinking what if Mother could see me and Finn now and Da waiting at the door with his big hand ready for the hiding of your backside if he’d known or saw so thank God he didn’t and now Finn’s got the bitch of the town and you’ve no one not even Seamus or Micheal or Donal all of them off someplace doing what they do best with their lips and hands and not a thought for you or your loneliness or your empty bed and down at the churchyard the small grave of your small Sally stuck against the wall with the moss and the ivy and her silent deep down with the worms and whispered prayers and tears and you often going there by the gravestone looking and laying flowers and muttering the prayers and remembering the lost nights when you and she climbed to bed up the dark backstairs.
