At the Bar
I was sitting on a high stool at the bar
Standard issue paddy poet,
Enjoying a pint of Guiness with nobody but
Myself; the way to enjoy a pint of Guiness.
Ìý
Then the scant of somegirl sexy mounted
The next stool,
All tightflesh and longleg.
May I buy you a drink? She asked in that nasal
American accent.
Ìý
‘ Whell tanks veera mutch ' I said in my
Greenest accent ‘ Oil have a point of
Porther and tanks fur aaskin. '
Ìý
Then I thought about her,
As she paid the barman,
And I said, conversationally,
After I had sucked a grateful gobfull
Through the lush cream of my virgin pint,
Ìý
‘ If I had lived only in the
Better-lit areas of my head.
Ìý
If I had met you
Thirty-two funerals ago.
Ìý
If I had never tasted the blood
Dripping from the Celtic Tiger ' s teeth.
Ìý
If I could still find relevance to
My existence in my existence.
Ìý
There might've been a chance that me and you
Would've got down to some Yankee doodle-do '.
By Vincent Marmion
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Emma Jones - The Storm
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Jean Vance - A Silent Cry
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Vincent Marmion - At the Bar
Vincent Marmion - Overpowering
Vincent Marmion - The Party After the Funeral
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