Ireland again

Really tried
But I let the day slip from me
Man was a boxer
Cross the bar from me
Wearing his age
On his face
Like a set of old scars
Talking to me
Saying ya man
Your lucky you’re born here
Got it all worked out
Me I’m just an old man
I don’t know if ill see Ireland again.


Good luck to you

She’s like a
Failed work of art
All grim and
Falling apart
Her nose is so pretty
Her skin soft and smooth
But her smiling eyes glare
When they should soothe

And her gentle body
Moves cruely
And frays
Like its at war
And her hips don’t sway-
They jaunt
As if in taunt
And when she’s got something to say
Her lips don’t part
They smirk
As she teases you on

While I watch from the bar
And raise a glass
Silently singing-
“Good luck to you.”