We went up to Rockchapel, the two of us,
myself and Paddy Hickey; and because
he arranged a drive back with someone else,
I came home early, only stopping
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at Curtin's shop to buy a bunch of rhubarb.
Still all right: still before the end of July
when rhubarb turns bitter and the days
get shorter, and well before you start
to count the dates from the darkening evenings
to the end of summer when they put back up
the big green wood shutters in Normandy
and children face for school again, and you throw
out
July's Irish Times's at the end of August.