Epitaph for a Poet You didn’t hide your talent But spread it as you could, A gift out of the ordinary. At least it did some good. Gabriel Fitzmaurice   The Inspector Calls   The inspector calls, we all stand— “Tá fáilte romhat”, I take his hand, He flaunts his Irish (mine is better) Then turns to English. Like a debtor I fawn upon him while he goes Through the books, then strikes a pose As he probes my class to find out if I’ve been doing my job, and, by God!, he’s stiff.   I’ve done my job, no…