an old writer and his words

I remember it as thoughit was yesterday, not eight years ago,the evening cool, the streetcrowded, the pubs along High Street:Freeney’s, The Front Door,Tigh Neachtain, Sonny Molloy’sstill warming up as the nighttightened it grip, the Guinnesswashed the taps, filled the pintsand people sat along the streetsome with guitars, one a bouzouki,and all with a song whichyou…