Tipp for Races
By Donal O’Connell
When Galway’s western tribes go into eastern mode,
Embracing the Indochinese compulsion intensity for incestuous gambling,
An almost death wish bordering on Russian roulette,
Hangs like Havana cigar smoke, in the licensed premises,
Bedazzling the women, mesmerizing the men,
Weaving spells of no tomorrow with black outs of yesterday.
Then old ghosts hold sway and have their way traipsing, tricking,
Trolloping down the blocked up back alleys
Near Quay Street and Buttermilk Lane.
Yes it’s Race Week!
While question mark terror hangs there remotely beckoning,
Mockingly daring, insanely encouraging the smouldering virgin eyes of young ones,
Who too have tasted spirits incautiously and seek further exploration.
Luring longings, dancing dares in prolonged titillation,
Awaiting first hand excitation,
Not all the jockeys are on the race course!
Is your daughter dressed up as a Shop Street Slapper ?
While you lurk in the shadows of Bishop Brown’s last Erection?
In denial of how you got the clean spotless- white clean stiff shirt
From the incarcerated Magdalene girls and their bonneted jailers?
Aieeh! Hurts it does to recognize that denial is not just a river in Egypt that’s far away.
Or can it be swept under the carpet like Bertie’s Bankers hellicoptering the West coast, hoovering for speculation sites with our dough,
Oh no mmmmm !
Yes, it will happen again, ‘cause you will continue
To court for further favours condemning us to debt.
Race week 2012