An Old Irish Recipe

Fairy Tale

Old man Wiley lay dead as a door nail upon his wood bed

There are only two things which could aroused him

 

One was the smell of wife and the other of fresh marble baked bread

Twas an old family recipe, her pride and joy and she was definitely his

 

For two score years a routine with no need for any kind of end

Exactly three slices covered in her homemade butter blend

 

And four and a half snorts of some of his favorite dark rum

After he swallowed them all and the same dinner was done

 

She would offer up a dance at his behest that always ended, before it had begun

Then they were off like two Irish race horses to stir up shenanigans

 

To her astonishment it was always the same hour after hour, before they were done

A twinkle in her eye and a smile on her face, she thought “now, that’s got to be love!”

 

Afterwards Old Man Wiley fell even harder for her like a lump back into that oak bed

And so the routine went on, starting all over again

 

For he slept and slept until the evening next, right up til’ quarter past ten

When precisely on the minute into his room aromas seemed to mysteriously waft in

 

An angelic song voice followed as if calling him forth back from the dead

He looked at his watch for the fourteenth thousand six hundredth first time and said "What the hell was in that bread!"

Reviews

[BlueZan]

Very nice, sir! Surprising, witty, romantic. Very good write!!

[Michael G. Smith]

That's me witty and romantic like Woody Allen, haha JK. Thanks.

[Marie]

Must be some kind of recipe...was it the bread or was it the rum?
I used to bke bread...still drink a little rum...

[Michael G. Smith]

I'm leaving that up to the reader to decide... a little interactive poetry.

[Frieda P]

Haha quirky I like it...you Irish people sure how how to live, does Wiley/Fred have a brother perchance? Enjoyed!

[Michael G. Smith]

I'm not opposed to creating one if he's promised romance.

[Frieda P]

Well if you're creating him from scratch could you make him a hot Latino then? haha

[Michael G. Smith]

I could but they tend to have roving eyes.

[Frieda P]

Like a man you mean? Lol...sorry, couldn't resist.

[Michael G. Smith]

Ha ha, I apologize for my judging the Latino male in general. I actually have twelve Dominican brother in laws by my wife.

[Frieda P]

No offense taken, I was kidding, I'm Italiano, I have a few of those in my family...ha

[Michael G. Smith]

I took it as such. I will bet there's some great cooks in your family.

[Frieda P]

You're looking at one....we're born w/evoo running through our veins.

[Michael G. Smith]

Italian hmmm... you should read my poem A Balcony over Venice. I love to cook from scratch especially for mi Milagros.

[Frieda P]

Have you been to Venice, magnifico! I'll definitely check it out chef.

[Michael G. Smith]

The only two major cities out of the country I've been to are Santo Domingo, London and Dover. My youngest and oldest daughters have both been to Italy.

[Frieda P]

What part of Italy? My family is from Southern, a very small town in Bari.

[SquinklaPsyOps]

Interesting, why reinvent the wheel if it works, hope nobody tries to mislead them to the wrong port when they die.

[Michael G. Smith]

Thanks, have a heck of a Friday.