Thursday, March 17, 2016

Alan Catlin- A Poem

St. Patrick’s Day as Hell

After the early A.M. arrivals, the three day bingers,
            eyes like pin holes in a black canvas;
After the heart attack machine, flushed face turning
            blue, a bite of corned beef on rye still
            lodged in his throat;
After the ambulances go,  the police cars, Black Maria
After an Irish cheer for the band, empty pint glasses
            thrown against a wall and the shot glasses
            that followed;
After the banshee wail, impromptu a capella singer,
            her wild red hair aflame with the light from
            a No Exit sign,
After the penny whistles, rogue bag pipes, fiddlers
            on speed and homemade acid;
After the relentless crush of revelers, the fetid air inside,
            thick as smoke following  a terror bomb raid;
After hours in the bar, the blood draining morning toward
            dawn, rounds of Irish and Stout for the help,
            the Oblivion Ha Ha beckoning, Yeats with a
            magic flute gesturing to follow him this way
            into the dark.

1 comment:

  1. And with a tip of the hat, off the old man goes with his shalalee and Irish Whiskey. Happy St. Pat's Day!