Tuesday, March 17, 2015

poem of the day 03.17.15

ireland forever

come to think of it
i’ve never been in a bar on st. patrick’s day

i’ve never shouted, what’s the craic?
to some pasty eejit mainlining jameson
and pouring green beer down his throat

i’ve been in plenty of bars
the day after st. patrick’s day

have sat there drinking beer with the regulars
eating left over corned beef and cabbage
getting it all over themselves and the floor

i’ve been in forgotten bars in may
that were too lazy to take down
the shamrocks and leprechaun decorations

but i’ve never been in a bar on st. patrick’s day

have never watched the parade
with the other drunks

have never hung my head
to danny boy by the chieftains

put on the pogues, van morrison or u2
sang songs while pumping a guinness

and watching the tits on a woman
in a kiss me, i’m irish t-shirt

i’ve never found my pot of gold on march 17th

in fact, if there’s a day that i don’t go into bars
that day would be st. patrick’s day

i’ve never liked crowds
especially of the drunken, white, vomitus persuasion

i prefer bars that look dead all of the time
the ones that wouldn’t know st. patrick’s day from christmas

where the beer is green as a matter of course
and the television is always off

but i’ve never been in a bar on st. patrick’s day

oh wait, i was once
about a dozen years ago i was in this joint
in midtown manhattan, waiting for my wife

it was called the mica bar

the staff inside was wearing black
most of them looked like they struggled to take a shit

i was the only patron in the joint
and the bartender plied me with
green napkins, green coasters, green straws

she put a green hat in front of me and begged me to put it on

she said, erin go bragh, dude!
while the two of us looked at the piece
of conical plastic

when i asked her what that meant
she said she didn’t know

so i got up and left
and figured i’d try it again
come memorial day

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