Slipping into shoes with holes,
decorated steps lilting lifts
and winged tips for flights of fancy
dressed to delight
starring the stage Irish.

The drink’s the ticket!
A drop of Tullamore Dew, a finger –
or two – to lighten the step
into the whiskey mist night
with the Wild Rover,
no nay never no more! at least ‘til
next year, sure, but right now
trilling toora loora for show
and taking the mickey out.

Rolling arse uphill
a bellyful home to the missus
and the babies dropping brogues
in a lump with the pumps
and plimsolls on the mat
the everyday Irish afoot.