Reprise of my Favorite St Paddy's Day Poem

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 slurred verse of Danny Boy
Like tone deaf drunken goats,
Set the dogs to barking.

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
At our regular bar stools
Chasing shots of Jameson's
Down with dark beer,
Glad not to be thinking
About the days
When Irish need not apply.

They Don't Celebrate St. Paddy's Day in Paradise

Humph. Like I am the only guy on the Island wearing green socks yesterday, proudly displaying my Irish heritage and beer belly. The locals are not interested in St Patrick. There have never never been any serpents in this Garden Isle - hence the proliferation of wild chickens - and perhaps this fact leaves poor St Patrick as a non-hero in their eyes. I not see a shamrock or a touch o green anywhere. The bars we selling the same Mai Tai and Rum Runner specials, but no Harp or Guinness to be seen anywhere.

I did hear that there was an Irish Pub in Honolulu, but that's a long swim from here. Besides, my keeper only allows me to have 2 beers a day, so it's not like I can party with the other FFI's. (to use the acronym my friend George uses to refer to Fat-faced Irishmen). So I contented myself with a Sam Adams to wash down my Irish Mahimahi at dinner last night.

Today I am back to white socks, and I am not getting the same stares.