Yes, I plan to publish this poem every St Patricks Day... until I write a better one.
The Irony of St. Patrick’s Day
Fake Irishmen wearing silly green ties
Calling with bad brogues
For a wee dram of green beer
In bars festooned with shamrocks
Pipes and cartoon leprechauns they
Sing-a-long to a verse of Danny Boy
Like tone deaf drunken goats,
They set the dogs to barking
With their droning tura-lura-lura
Amateurs: they end-up
Puking on their Italian loafers
Waking-up late for work
The next day in a hangover fog
Grandsons of the famines
Endure this minstrel show
With a mirthless grin
We stay to ourselves
Washing shots of Bushmills
Down with a beer
Glad not to be thinking
About the days
When Irish need not apply.
