Dear Paddy or Bud or Carl or Ken,

guangzhuMarch 1, 2011 at 5:01 AM

Dear Paddy or Bud, Carl or Ken,

You were always our parents favourite now and then,

They stayed up with you when I was sent to bed,

Here’s my bed time story, they preferred you instead.

You took the spotlight at all our parties

All-Irelands, Birthdays, Wakes

As I pledged at my confirmation

They were laughing at my mistakes.

In the back of the Church I was watching 

And telling me never to falter

The Bishop raised a chalice 

And drank to you up at the altar.

I was too young to hang around you,

You skipped school to go down the canal,

Or invited to all the free houses

No problem for everyone’s pal.

In shady late night places 

When I was held home on curfew

You were finding girls’ intimate spaces

As they fell over themselves for you.

The Bars and the clubs and Off-Licences

Loved how you made money flow

When you bought for the under-age drinkers

They pretended they didn’t know.

But Boy as a drunk you were vicious,

Shoot your mouth off with comments that cut

Then you kicked and went punching and spitting

And gave someone your trademark head-butt.

Up in court the Judge forgave your impact

Your responsibility was diminished

So the Gardaí gave up on pursuing you

The long arm of the Law reached its limit.

No surprise that your marriage broke up

Like the heart of a home built on drink

Both your kids now are fond of a sup

Was it hitting their mother, do you think?

I have lived in your shadow, it’s true

When I grow up I just want to be you,

Your lessons I’ve learned and applied

Including the last Suicide.

ReplyDelete

Indestructible by Canon

Indestructible

The important thing is to strut, spit and swagger,

Keep in the anger; be cool as a slice of ice,

Keep your hands hooked in a black leather studded belt,

All pointing outwards, cutting others, not myself.

(Sometimes, I have to think which way to wear it).

Passing out by the scarred bars and drinking clubs,

And the cigarette stained ceiling to my drowning pool-hall world,

My eyes are on the watch for a minute second chance,

For a car or a crime or impending punishment.

(Wait till next year when I’m fifteen.)

In my hard-earned concrete gray to grey day rut,

The pathetic sky, like my mother, weeps behind a pane.

I’m a wrecking ball reality in the lives of walled in people,

Suddenly destructive and indestructible.

(Pulled by gravity and swung on a chain)