For Ernie
that year as a navvy
in the Irish rain
you taught me how
to mix mortar
not too wet
not too stiff
three of sand
one of cement
that year as a navvy
in the Irish rain
you taught me how
to carry bricks in a hod
shoulder a lintel
climb three sections of scaffold
and place it like a feather
without shaking the planks
that year as a navvy
in the Irish rain
you taught me how
to use a trowel
find the rhythm in my wrist
work tight to the line
build tales and laughter into walls
keep joints honest
and pride plumb
that year as a navvy
in the Irish rain
you taught me how
to make tea
hot and strong
loose leaves in a can
stirred with a spike
and black as the guinness
we’d drink when the day was done
that year as a navvy
in the Irish rain
you taught me the bond
between men
Rae Crossman
Published in The Grand Table Anthology