Bankers

 Bankers

Spare a thought for the Bankers

Who worked in every town

From lofty Dublin to the Provinces

Whose proud and handsome premises

Conveyed a sense of industry 

In the far flung parishes. 

The pub the church and the Bank

The Guinness sign and the steeple

Signaled all was well

That God still loved his people. 

In times before we had to choose

Whom we liked and who would lose 

The vox pop on the radio

Before resentment did enslave us. 

The Banker lent the money 

As though it was his own 

Maybe all the better for

It found its way back home. 

And then there were the charities

That asked for help each year 

A raffle prize, a golfing trophy

A list of local worthies. 

The branch stood there across the square

For over half a century 

Now it’s sold and in its place

Another fast food franchise.