Glass shattering, 

beer splattering, 

people chattering. 

We’re coming out of our cage, 

doing just fine.

In search of some garlic mayo, 


Her hair is black, her eyes are blue, 

she’s playing a fiddle ‘round salthill. 

Look — 

just give me an irish pub 

or give me an irish pub.

About The Author

-- Emeritus Executive Editor -- English Creative Writing

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published.