“God invented whiskey
to keep the Irish from
ruling the world.”
~ Ed McMahon

I wrote and originally published this poem in 2017. Today seems like an appropriate day to share it once again. It’s simply called “Saint Patrick’s Day.”

I drank some pints of Guinness,
then I had a little more.
Before too long I found myself
sprawled out upon the floor.
McCarthy said, “Get up, me boy!
The night has just begun.
Begorrah! It’s Saint Patrick’s Day!
We’re here to have some fun.”

I climbed back up the bar stool
and I sat upon the seat.
Although ’twas Friday during Lent,
I had to have some meat.
Corned beef and cabbage then appeared,
’twas sure that I had died.
I ate it all and licked the plate
with good old Irish pride.

And then McCarthy says to me,
“I think it’s time to dance!”
The Guinness and the Irish food
had left me in a trance.
I said, “No, I can’t do that,
for my balance ain’t so good.”
McCarthy laughed and grabbed my arm.
He really thought I could.

I staggered out upon the floor
and knocked a woman down.
Her husband, he got angry
and he knocked me all around.
McCarthy grabbed a bar stool
and he smashed it o’er his head.
The man collapsed upon the floor.
’Twas sure that he was dead.

We quickly left the tavern,
but before we got too far,
the Guarda stopped us in our tracks
and stuffed us in their car.
So here we sit inside the jail,
and still we’re drunk as Hell.
I guess we’ll have to sleep here
in our cozy little cell.

’Tis true, it is Saint Patrick’s Day,
he, too, spent time in jail.
I guess it’s just a normal thing
if you’re an Irish male.
I like to drink the Guinness,
but I’ve got to learn to say,
“No thank you, sir. I’ve had enough…
for this Saint Patrick’s Day.”