Cork Valentines Day Poem 2012

14th Feb 2012

Langerloads of Love

At home the other evening just as the bright began to fade,
The old doll sent me a text declaring, tonight she’d be delayed.

So I flicks on the news and there’s a story there about some fella dressed up in pink,
Sez I to meself, what’s the buzz with that, sure what’ll people think?

Not that a feen can’t dress the way he wants, I just thought he looked a quite silly,
In a gaudy tux, a gammy hat and shirt all bright and frilly.

From behind his head he whips a bow and shoots an arrow into the crowd,
He hits some beour upon the head, so hard her scream was loud.

Then he casts another and strikes a feen, who strangely looks delighted,
But the reason for his unexpected joy is that with the old doll he gets united.

Then I fall back into the couch, my face suddenly goes all pale,
I just realised I’m about to take a train to destination: fail.

I forgot today’s that ‘special day’ that every old doll wants to enjoy,
Being lavished with gifts and soppy poems, by their one-and-only boy.

Here I am, what a gowl, I totally forgot,
And if I don’t trump up, this time around, I won’t rule out being shot.

No card, no hearts, no teddy bears – not a single drop of wine, 
Not an early bird or booking made – nowhere fancy for us to dine.

An’ all the places advertising, for months I could have booked,
Some savage grub served up to us, but instead my goose is cooked.

The clock says that it’s just gone six, so I certainly don’t have hours,
I lamp out the window and across the road and see Mrs. O’Leary’s flowers.

They’re probably roses or some aul ting, they’ll definitely come in handy, 
So I’ll grab a bunch double quick and I’ll slip Mrs O a brandy.

Still short a meal on the way back in, I notice a helpless pigeon,
I’ll spare you the gorey details girls, but I broke the laws of no religion.

I check the cupboard and it’s not looking good, there are just a few ageing spuds,
And they look like they might have been around, since the time we had the floods.

The fridge isn’t a whole lot better, some frozen gank that needs thawing out,
It could be soup, or a blob of ice, or a decaying Brussels’ sprout.

The oven’s on and birdie’s cooking, but I’m still stuck for a lash of veg, 
So I grab a few fists of greenery from the neighbour’s exotic looking hedge. 

Mash and greens all went in, the cooker turned up to max, 
Herbs and spices all lobbed in, no time to relax. 

One soilked rose from Mrs. O'Leary's garden  makes a happy old doll

All in all I have to say, t’was far from looking squeamish,
And for flavour’s sake I mixed it up with Murphy’s a little Beamish.

Dinner sorted but still no card, as the clock struck ten to seven,
Nothing but a pen and glue, and a flyer for Pizza Heaven.

Origami is not a Cork man’s game but we do excel in the arts, 
You’d be amazed how quickly fast food ads can be made into little hearts.

She likes her tunes loud and sweet, her taste in music I couldn’t fault her,
Let’s keep it Cork, I thought to myself, something new from the Frank and Walter,

I threw it on, turned it up, and hit the auld ‘repeat’.
Yer man the Keating fella, in fairness, knocks out a decent beat. 

Then I did the usual stuff old dolls love, like tidying up around the place, 
Candles lighting on the table and shaved the stubble off me face.

Then she strolled in, eyes wide open, looked like she hadn’t got a clue,
“Ah there you are”, sez I all cool, “Happy Valentines to you!”

With delicious smells and romance in the air, she nearly lost the plot,
“Is it Valentine’s?!” she said surprised, “sure I totally forgot!”