Father And Son Poem by Donal Mahoney

Ducktail haircut
back in the Fifties
made you a rebel
without a cause
with all your friends.

You bought the goo
and came out of
the bathroom
not a feather askew
and saw your father
go through the roof,
first man on the moon.

Were he alive today
you'd get a tattoo
on your neck,
a giant shamrock
with the slogan
"Up the IRA! "

He would applaud,
raise both fists
and shout hurrah,
maybe dance a jig
and call your mother
to come and see it.
He might even
suggest a harp
for the other side.

But he wouldn't
go to the moon
and the two of you
so much alike
would have been
best friends for life.
Not that you weren't,
not that you were.