St. Patrick to the T
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Our March 17th holiday march is starting |
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With winter in the air, here, lingering |
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Beside the MBTA station in Andrew Square. |
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City of Boston snowplows lead us: |
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Our various marching bands deploy us |
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As young girls swap sweet smiles |
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Between bright beautiful faces |
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Bobbing above boobs and bottoms, |
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Bright green silk uniforms sheen |
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As greensward whereupon lie here |
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Emerald shamrocks, golden harps, hair. |
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Our majorette’s pear-studded baton |
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Is now aloft, a golden arrow, oh |
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Her hair is the goldenest of all! |
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Southie’s politicians wear |
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Green skullies, their fare |
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Green potatoes, green cabbage, |
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Corned beef, green beer – |
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Meet to our Irish palateers. |
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Our ceremony is now a-launching: |
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Amphibian floats are moving |
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New colors from the beginning |
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Military bands are uttering |
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Such martial music making |
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Sympathetic the heartstrings |
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Of even the unpatriotic watching! |
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V.I.P guests and aides crowding |
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Into the center, dramatically, while |
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His Honor Kevin Hagan White, arriving, |
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On foot, hardly nonchalant, alighting |
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On the favored spot, responding |
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To hurrahs, echoing, drowning |
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The military music, is rewarding! |
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Over us all a lime balloon is arising |
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Advertising: “Erin Go Braless!” |
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Everyone is charged with feeling |
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The lightest touch igniting Irish laughter, |
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Saint Elmo’s Irish fire, rekindling |
| Our interest in the Art of Living |
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Philip Hackett |
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(P.O. Box 330168, San Francisco, CA
94133-0168) |
