We lived in fear of key in lock,
the nightly trial of eggshells trod,
no avenue of escape allowed,
a captive audience compelled.
Oh tell me again of your intelligence,
your knowledge of all and sundry,
how everyone else is stupid,
as your whiskey inches down,
of how disappointed in us you are,
your fists used often to show this,
not once stopping to consider
we might find you lacking.
Flowers, casket, priest, platitudes,
we file by you silent, listening
to neighbours who know better say,
he wasn’t the worst.
John Richard Kenny is a freelance writer, editor and creative writing tutor. He has had work featured in Revival, Albedo One, Woman’s Way and many other venues. He lives in Dublin with his wife, two daughters and a neurotic cat.