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!
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NOTE
Almost the entire poem should be highlighted for
it contains every word on the given list
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Entered in Debbie Guzzi’s Contest For Love of Language
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