There, in the corner, staring at his drink. br The cap juts like a gantry's crossbeam, br Cowling plated forehead and sledgehead jaw. br Speech is clamped in the lips' vice. br br That fist would dropp a hammer on a Catholic- br Oh yes, that kind of thing could start again; br The only Roman collar he tolerates br Smiles all round his sleek pint of porter. br br Mosaic imperatives bang home like rivets; br God is a foreman with certain definite views br Who orders life in shifts of work and leisure. br A factory horn will blare the Resurrection. br br He sits, strong and blunt as a Celtic cross, br Clearly used to silence and an armchair: br Tonight the wife and children will be quiet br At slammed door and smoker's cough in the hall.