St Patrick’s Day Poem

Not ‘patty’s’ but ‘paddy’s’ day.
Former is the American’s way.
Don’t you dare argue
I am Irish through and through.
I may not have a shamrock on,
or drink until the dawn.
I went to mass each year
to enjoy the atmosphere.
The holy well was our destination.
Every year: sleet, snow, or sun.
Waiting in line to drink the water,
watching from afar, the loner.
I never believed but enjoyed the sense,
of wonderment created by nonsense.
The lengths people will go
to prove they are in the know.
That there is a mystical creature
who will make it all better.
St. Patrick’s day is for drinking.
Nothing to do with praying.
He would have left the snakes behind
if he saw how we have declined
into a society that wears green
and raises pints to the unseen.

© 2015-2016


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