a poem in five minutes; yeah, I know, it shows!
FIVE MINUTE POEM
The Holy Spirit uni-sexed
And Christ cross-dressed
The liturgical variations are endless
Perhaps Mary sporting a head-dress?
Bring back sin
Masturbation is in – again
Not that it was ever really out
It’s just that people don’t like to flout
Their little peccadilloes ad nauseam
Otherwise we could surely expect a wanking symposium.
WRITING, DRINKING, WANKING
You can either buy me a drink or fuck off
Were the first words Patrick Kavanagh said to me.
He was hunched over an empty glass in the corner of McDaids,
Gobbing and spitting into the embers of the open fire
I arrived here nearly thirty years ago,
Having spent two days traipsing the road from Monaghan,
But I wanted to be in Dublin, y’know?
Where I thought the real writers were.
Real writers me arse!
They spend all their time drinking and talking about writing
And none of it doing any
He nearly took my hand off grabbing the drink I had got him,
Writing should be like wanking –
Best done in the privacy of your own room