My annual Paddy's day poems are not getting any better but they are getting shorter... for that readers can be thankful.
This Paddy'’s Day please honor my special wish
Whether you’re Polish, Eye Talian or Eye Rish
This year there's one gift I would seriously like
Spare me those old jokes about Pat and Mike
Don’t tell me the story about the widow Finnegan
After her old man downed in the brewery vat again
Please no more cracks about Michael O’'Connor
In court saying, “No more booze for me, your honor”
Or that scatterbrained lad, one Michael Hooligan
Who made a complete ass of himself at the pub again
Poor Seamus on death bed smelled cookies and spake:
“Can I have just one?” Heard, “No they'’re for the wake”
No more tales about the cop and the tipsy priest
Of all stories from old Erin, all those are the least.
Scrap the old Irish joke book; it is drivel and bunk
We'’re not scoundrels in private nor publicly drunk.
Hey, the Irish aren’t fools and not really that funny
You make too much fun of my crowd there, Sonny
Be not shamefully slanderous against people most gentle
We have physical conditions but none that are mental
So get better material, I am warning you, Dude
Cause the Sons of St. Patrick are charming, not rude
My claims and defenses here ain’t theoretical
Our women are lookers and our booze strictly medical
Cease the rumors about the bishop and the organist then
Their lives are their own and they'’re both fine men
Those old jokes ain't authentic; they’re beginning to grate
And while we are at it, let’s get Irish history straight
As to the yarn of St. Patrick, there were no damn snakes
Those chased from the Emerald Isle were Brits for God’s sakes!
So may the road come up to meet you, not hit you in the mush
And may that wind not be your own - - the one behind your tush.
JRK March 2010