My father is seventy-eight today. Every year I bring him for dinner on his birthday. Dinner in the middle of the day. He is a countryman. This year he looks different.

I bought my grave, he announces.
Did you?
I did, he says. Four hundred and fifty euros. In Burgess.
So you have land in Burgess now!
Oh I do, he says. That’s a good one, land in Burgess.
Do you have to look after it in the meantime? I ask.
I dunno, he says. I haven’t thought about that.
You should use it, I say. Grow some vegetables maybe.
He laughs at that.
That’s a good one, he says. I could grow parsnips.

Sean O’Connor