An Ode to St. Pat
I make it a point to say my mother
Is full-blooded Irish; gives me a right,
I conclude, to drink all I want and curse
With God’s okay. As a half-Irishman,
I have a tendency to admire women
With full breasts and the wherewithal
To say whatever is on their minds–
All the while knowing I can read
Their minds like a leprechaun.
Of course my magic is limited within
My own linen, an all too familiar feeling
That is seeded by love and mistaken
For thoughts that are all too common.
copyright j matthew waters
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