AND A FINE ST. PADDY'S DAY TO ALL

Photo by W. Lowe

Faith and begorra, it's me, in Ireland, awaiting my
turn to kiss the Blarney stone.

OH IF I WASN'T A MARRIED LADY

I'd walk into O'Gorman's Matchmaker Pub

and order me a poet--one of those

black Irish kind with sooty blue eyes

and long hair a-tossin' down his back

with a voice that could charm the sun

back to Ireland and we'd find us

a place where we wouldn't hear

the cows and sheep needin' to be fed

or the teakettle on the hearth

or the priest a-knockin' at the door

wantin' to discuss the wages of sin.

We'd listen to only the rain

and sing a teary ballad or two,

write all over each other

poems the whole night through.

- mimi

Pionta Guiness, le do thoil...

(a pint of Guiness, please)