All Done With Midgets

I misread the sentence " All done with midnights" as " All done with midgets the poem followed

It was all done with midgets

says McGregor

Hunched over his dram

like Boris Karloff

with a slobbering scowl that

for a moment

I thought might curdle his Laphroig

(my misgivings were unfounded as whiskey has no fear in it)

beside him the local inebriates nodded

lined up like a murder of crows

they’d heard this homily before

and by their silent acquiescence

they hoped for acceptance

or at least another round

(which is the same thing to those who have taken to drink in the leaner years of ones life)

Blake the bar tender rolled his briny olive eyes

“Now no more of that” he says “the wee folk had nothing to do with”

McGregor’s face twisted like hung corpse in the wind

“I didn’t say wee folk, I said midgets”

“A difficult distinction to make without the proper instruments” says I

and rolled a taste of barley around my tongue like it was a Chinese lover

No fear in the whiskey

No fear atall

“Ask me arse” he shot back

“Is that the end you’re sitting on or drinking with?”

I asked polite as the priest at a free Sunday dinner

The toothless crows giggled and bobbed on their stools

Like a circus calliope

Hee ha hoo hee ha

McGregor threw back his drink and fell off the stool

“Call the Missus” says Blake

and leaning over to me intoned in a conspiratorial fashion

“Next time yer back here man, don’t mention the moon landing”

Every place of enlightenment has its rules

 

 

 

 

 

 

Reviews

[Doctor JKC]

Hysterical!
And such good dialog.
Good Irish whiskey has a mind of it's own
even though they say there's no
behavior in the bottle.
A Guinness in between is also the right
thing to do and might have saved him.

Great images, too.
Jack

[Emily B]

awesome . . . enjoyed it very much

[Jaeda]

I liked it. The tone was of seriousness, and it was written as one's thoughts might follow, but in an old-fashioned way. Good read.