In the Land of Ire & Vice – a poem about an island

In the Land of Ire and Vice

It was all about buy to let

Invest in property to get rich quick

Sell a field

In the high risk “I risk” sea

And buy a nuclear power station with the profits

 

Pushing a trolley

Down the Emerald supermarket aisle

Dark horses gallop home to roost

A neigh shunned once again

A light knock to the shin

But the shin feigns injury

My head hits the ground, concussed

An array of light engulfs my vision

An “eye array” you might say

But they’ll deny it ever existed
Would you Adams and Eve it?

A man cuts the grass

With a broad black strimmer, and

On the other side of the cowshed

A small brown bird chirps out a song of indifference

The wren behind the byre

Meanwhile at the bar I order a coke and an orange

They just bring the coke

forgetting the orange order
I need to relieve myself outside

taking a leak up against the corner wall

Which turns out to be

The slash my father swore

Would get me into trouble.

A man in black approaches

“Do you pee?” he asks

Then continues

“Pee? Yes and I

Are, you see,

a policeman

Please come this way, you’re in eight

times more trouble than me”

So the police now have powers

To guard a sheer corner

And look after their own
Chucking our laws out the window
As clouds of steam from the east are rising

The German bankers say “Devalue Eire”

As he turns in his grave.

The headlines scream

The Queen sips tea – shock!

With the Taoiseach

You won’t find a finer foil

Out at sea,

A flat fish swims past

A ray? A plaice?

Aye, a ray

it is

But never was a ray

To Labour the point

A voter at a political conference

In the south of France

set himself on fire,

The ballot box and the arm alight

It was quite a conflagration

In the Ardèche

The shattered dreams of an ex-justice minister

Haunt the waves out at sea

a collision with a coalition

There’s a fish caught in a storm

a fin, a gale…turns the waters choppy

No fee nor foil

Can buy off a government

But playing dumb is simply

To feign a fool

With fingers fumbling in Greecey tills

Farmer doffs his CAP subsidy

Colours his sheep a shade of red

A cause worth dyeing for?

Meanwhile across the Irish Sea

A lone poet sits in exile

Tapping on a keyboard to the tune of a long forgotten song…

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