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 17^th

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