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Poem	My eldest sister arrived home that morning In her white muslin evening dress. 'Who the hell do you think you are Running out to dances in next to nothing? As though we hadn't enough bother With the world at war, if not at an end.' My father was pounding the breakfast-table. 'Those Yankees were touch and go as it was— If you'd heard Patton in Armagh— But this Kennedy's nearly an Irishman So he's not much better than ourselves. And him with only to say the word. If you've got anything on your mind Maybe you should make your peace with God.' I could hear May from beyond the curtain. 'Bless me, Father, for I have sinned. I told a lie once, I was disobedient once. And, Father, a boy touched me once.' 'Tell me, child. Was this touch immodest? Did he touch your breasts, for example?' 'He brushed against me, Father. Very gently.'
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