Close Call In Ireland

CLOSE CALL IN IRELAND I once had an affaire de coeur with a foxylady, in fact a randy colleen In Ireland with a tough older brother looking to punch me out. But I cold cocked the rambunctious hooligan, A real old blowhard who knew diddly squat about fighting. Oh yeah, he had some mickey mouse gizmo like a nunchaku But he was a shilly shallying, vacillating sort of bloke, A tightwad nitpicker full of quintessential balderdash (To put it politely), And I just lambasted his ass. But, you know, with hindsight He did almost usurp my dubious position with his sister. Actually I rather think he was an incest-freak, A what-you-might-call weirdo trying to insert himself sneakily Into her good books, (and maybe also my gay books). In formal language he was an aged interstitial gender-bender . This stupid old codger tried to seduce me as well as her. I didn’t acquiesce, didn’t dilly-dally hither and yon, Like some ethereal dancer doing a glissade. In the midst of an abso-bloody-lutely horrendous Wingding of a drunken celebration The pinch penny tried to titillate me With his whole second-hand collection of pictures, A great caboodle of ***********: And that easy rider fuzzled me later in a jimjam party And almost brought me out of the closet. He was some Tallulah, let me tell you. . . . wow! . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . NOTE Almost the entire poem should be highlighted for it contains every word on the given list . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Entered in Debbie Guzzi’s Contest For Love of Language