'Darcy and O'Mara' is a novel by Arthur Cronin.
Click here to buy the paperback or download the ebook for free.


Thursday, December 06, 2007

 

My Doctor Thinks I'm Stupid

My doctor thinks I'm stupid.
  He says I'm just a plank,
And that where my brain should be
  God has left a blank,

With a note in God's handwriting
  That says 'Insert brain here'.
He says I feel a need to fill
  The void with foreign beer.

I can't read God's handwriting,
  And the doctor's writing seems
As if his pen's in pain.
  The letters are its screams.

He's like a sterile needle
  In the purple vein of life.
He's needed, but unpleasant.
  That's according to his wife.

She told me all about him,
  And more than once she cried.
At times she thinks she shouldn't have
  Agreed to be his bride.

He's bad at spending money.
  He doesn't get much practise.
Her thirtieth birthday present
  Was a half-price plastic cactus.

People call him Scrooge
  But it's not a compliment.
Yet still his self-impression
  Is without a scratch or dent.

He takes pride in his nick-name
  And his penny-pinching ways.
He retrieves used tea bags
  And he makes them last for days.

He'll gladly take the insults
  When he turns down charities.
Retaining all his money
  More than compensates for these.

He's little time for children,
  For pets or shop assistants.
If he didn't have to buy things
  He would gladly keep his distance.

And he believes that people
  Who like fun are reprobates.
Utility should be your guide
  When choosing cars or mates.

When you enter bars on dates
  You should first state your intention
To leave unless this candidate
  For marriage has a pension.

His wife described last Christmas
  With their ten-inch Christmas tree.
He uses faulty lights
  To make the carol singers flee.

I listened to her tale of woe.
  The facts were stark and bare,
And so were we soon after
  At the start of our affair.

Our many secret meetings
  Were concealed behind the curtain.
I don't think he suspected
  But I cannot say for certain.

He gave me a prescription
  Which I've struggled to decipher.
I wonder is his wife
  Really someone who I'd die for.

At times I can't help thinking
  That I'm reading 'Cyanide'.
To ensure a healthy lifestyle
  Should I run away and hide?

And reading God's handwriting
  Isn't easy, but I try.
My actions would displease him
  And with him I couldn't lie.

I'm looking out for anvils
  Or pianos that could fall.
I fear that open doors
  Could be painted on the wall.






Very Slight Stories

Henry Seaward-Shannon

The East Cork Patents Office

The Tree and the Horse

Mizzenwood

Words are my favourite noises




Previous Poems
Archive

Poems from 2004
Poems from 2005









Links

HumorLinks

Gizmo's (Non)sense

Pretty Cunning

The Dossing Times

Fustar

Cruiskeen Eile
Kevin Myers' blog (sorry, Colonel Kevin Myers).

The Chancer

Sinead Gleeson

Bifsniff.com

Archives

August 2005   September 2005   October 2005   November 2005   December 2005   January 2006   February 2006   March 2006   April 2006   May 2006   June 2006   July 2006   August 2006   September 2006   October 2006   November 2006   December 2006   January 2007   February 2007   March 2007   April 2007   May 2007   June 2007   July 2007   August 2007   September 2007   October 2007   November 2007   December 2007   January 2008   February 2008   March 2008   April 2008   May 2008   June 2008   July 2008   August 2008   September 2008   October 2008   November 2008   December 2008   January 2009   February 2009   March 2009   April 2009   May 2009   June 2009   July 2009   August 2009   September 2009   October 2009   November 2009   December 2009   January 2010   February 2010   March 2010   April 2010   May 2010   June 2010   July 2010   August 2010   September 2010   October 2010   November 2010  




A Walk in the Rain

 | poetry from Ireland



This page is powered by Blogger. Isn't yours?