Remembrances of An Irish Pub
A cacophony of sounds fills the air.
Bodhrans beat and the jukebox screams.
Flutes and fiddles mingle in a mad race
overpowering, the drone
of drunken revelers in the back room.
Daddy’s darling bounces upon his knee
wreathed in a smile rivaling the brightest sun.
Dinners play their spoons and dash their knuckles,
upon the hard black stained surface of oak tables.
Toes tapp, muffled upon carpet-covered flooring
and Guinness flows, frothy, dark, and thick,
cascading, from brass spigots, lubricating the tenor's pipes.
And in the dim, buttery warmth of candlelight
the accordion wails as Old Aunt Tillie dances.
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