Sore throat on the eve of my odyssey
To Irish lands of legend, myth and song
Germs bubbling just as Dublin beckons me
It’s odd, you see: I’ve missed, a whole week long,
Wine, whiskey, stout, fags, yes, the whole shebang
So why now is the throat tickling me so?
Oh, thanks! Throw salt over shoulder, its tang
Faultless for gargling; doing that also
Or will be after fourteen lines or so
That’s lines of verse, not coke, by the way, see?
If I don’t choke, I’ll reverse this bug! Strong
I have to be; see my coracle go
Westward, ho, over the cold Irish Sea
Odyssey, oracle: sing, golden tongue!
yes. yes. yes. feel better lad.
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