2003-03-20 : Kincora Pub
Ok, this was the poem I wrote on St. Patty's Day (I barely remember writing this..)KINCORA PUB
Erin Go Braugh, 2003
and we end up at the Comet Tavern first
but nobody seems in a celebratory mood
and I feel that I make a fool of myself talking to Vietnam
Vets and men of Scottish ancestry just to try to relate
and they don't even have green dye for the beer.
So we head to Kincora on Pine
and in the midst of a noisy beat,
an electric violin and a frantic upright bass
I ignore my husband and seem drawn
to two men sitting at the bar.
I flirt with a belly already full of a half
bottle of St. Brendan's Irish Cream and Mac-n-Jack's
with a man who is as dark as licorice (well maybe not that dark)
from the projects of Chicago and a shy Ethiopian whose skin
is the color of burnt caramel.
I smoke their cigarettes, which the Ethiopian insists I take
and I discuss Bad Brains and Red Lorry Yellow Lorry
with the man from Chicago. I wonder if they are thinking
that I am nothing but a friendly and drunk white girl
trying to explore what it's like to be on the OTHER side
and I am self-conscious about this, but I drink my black-n-tan
and fool myself into thinking I don't give a fuck.
We talk about reverse vasectomies, and Rastafari and how Ethiopians
feel about African Americans and I feel profoundly connected to these two
but when it comes right down to it, I know that if I ever see them again
in a bar or coffee shop thaty they won't even recall meeting me
because I swear that my nature is that of a cushioned chair
that you see in the the corner of a restaurant.
The comfy kind that you notice, but never remember.
*******************
I'm not sure..I feel like something LACKS in it...it's not as good as what I'm usually capable of, but there it is and there it will stay as a snapshot in one night of my fairly boring life!
