Tag: Irish
“Twas Just The Irish In Me”
“Twas Just The Irish In Me”
by Hugh A Tague
It started much like any other day.
Stretching, I let out a great yawn.
My hounds bolted outside to play
As a marmalade sun cracked the dawn.
It was an early brunch for me:
Bangers, eggs and a bit of bread.
Then a short walk next to the sea,
Stopping in town to make right my head.
I cheerfully shuffled into Paddy’s Pub.
The keep poured me a pint of Guinness.
A gracious few had gathered in the club:
Just Helen, Hugh and his brother Innis.
Then a voice unfamiliar to my ear
asked me why I was not wearing the green.
I said, “Anyone know who is this here?
St. Paddy’s police, or so it would seem.”
He knew right off he had misspoke.
To this stranger I had nothing to prove.
Still, an answer his question did evoke.
An Irish gentleman shouldn’t be rude.
Loosing my belt, I rose from my chair,
Dropping my trousers for all to see.
Helen’s face turned as red as her hair,
My knickers were a brilliant green.
I turned a bit, so Helen couldn’t see
Taking the stranger’s empty glass,
Brandishing my God- given Irish shillelagh,
Filling it with pee as green as grass.
I left little for the stranger’s mind to doubt.
A St. Paddy’s Day miracle he had just seen.
On his way out he bought me a stout.
Nothing is sweeter than a pint that is free.
Once he was gone, my friends had to ask.
I said, “It’s really quite simple you see:
Last week my legs held water like casks.
The pills from my Doctor make me pee green.”
I made them promise that day in the pub,
“My friends, this secret we must keep.
If the visitor ever comes back to the club
Say only: ‘Twas Just The Irish In Me.’ ”
Hugh A Tague's Poetry & Prose 