Drinking Absinthe

Written by: Christopher Bunton

Drinking absinthe the color green,
snuck from Ireland in a bag unseen.

Dreams of faeries in my green bean patch,
chasing leprechauns I never can catch.

Into a cave, where St. Patrick sat,
on a rock, stroking an old fuzzy cat.

"What's up, Pat!"  I said with a slur.
"You know" He said "Drink is not your cure."

"Well, Pat." I slurred.  "It will work for now."
"Gotta go, I lost my bottle some how."

Back to the porch, I stumbled and crawled.
To awaken alone, with photos sprawled.



For the "Irish poem" contest