HUNGRY SOULS

It's a long time since I've heard anyone saying grace but it was a daily occurrence when I was growing up in Presbyterian Belfast all those years ago. 
My father was an Old Testament-style believer whose stern adherence to his faith, together with his deafness, tended to distance him from his impish and impious brood.
On those occasions nowadays, when I find myself dining in Christian company, the ritual of those simple words evokes in me a powerful sense of nostalgia.

UNBELIEVERS

With steepled hands, Father would pray:
Dear Lord, we thank you for this food,
and we would sit with downcast eyes,
as though we cared or understood
this piety upon display.
We would devour our Ulster fries:
black pudding, bacon, sausage, eggs,
mopped up with salty soda bread,
and roll our eyes, inwardly groan,
while Father sat at table-head,
firm in his faith and supped the dregs
of tea grown cold, austere, alone.