St Patrick’s Day, and tonight I am bound
For Ireland once again, driving to Wales
All the way to Holyhead, tyres will pound
The tarmac, onto the ferry, which sails
At 2.30 in the morning, its trails
Of white waves unseen in the dead cold night
As I try to relax and doze; that fails
More often than not, however. I might
Read Saul Bellow, and maybe even write
A poem before we reach emerald ground
I’ve studied the road atlas, made detailed
Notes of the route that heads from Dublin right
Down to Cork, then west towards Bantry sound
Up Sheep’s Head, ready for musical tales
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