At the counter. Eddie Rocket’s Diner.
‘They’re not frankfurters are they, the breakfast ?’
‘No, they’re patties’ the waitress replied
‘How’s that spelled?’
‘Patty’, she said.
‘Like the girl’s name, and what’s your name’ I asked
‘Jessica’ she replied in a soft Dublin accent
‘I thought it might be Patty’ I said
She smiled, beautifully, like a princess

I was reading Sentenced to Life
Saying Goodbye to Clive James,
On only four percent battery
I sent him an e mail – ‘thanks for all the laughs’
I thought I’d send it then, while it was on my mind,
Because, well……you know.
The juke box played ‘Jive Talkin…’ ’
Clive Talkin’, Holding Court on page eight
Then ‘That’ll be the Day….’
Maybe it will

I left Jessica two tips, one a note,
‘Read Japanese Maple by Clive James’
Better than money,
It might be the best poem,
Or the only poem, Jessica will ever read
Maybe she’ll remember years later
A good song Clive, is worth playing over.

Martin Swords

Thurs 28th May
Eddie Rocket’s Diner
South Anne Street
Dublin 2