Friday, September 16, 2011

449. The Emigrant's Letter

I left Ireland, not in the least unwillingly,
First at the canter and then at the gallop,
Not for boring blah-blah economic reasons,
No, to get away from the women! Hang about,
And you’d end up married to one of them!
Look at my cousins. Look at everyone! Well, don’t.
If it’s cash you’re after you’d still go to America.
Stands to reason: Hong Kong with English only.
And all you need is to play golf and be White
And stand up when they play their silly songs
And thump your chest and say, God’s Own Country!
They’re such hypocrites themselves, they’ll never never
Call your bluff. It’s a fuckin doddle, so it is.
Downside is, they’re always having a war on the go
Which is how the real money comes rolling in.
But never never never go on the fiddle with taxes.
Pay them off, they’ll leave you blissfully alone.
It’s so simple, dear God, it’s almost a crime.
Me, I went to Japan. Are you cracked or what?
I remember being asked that, almost continuously,
By tubby balding idiots with spritely Irish wives.
Spritely. Sweet weeping Jesus. Assay a bashful grin,
Nibble at the rock-hard scone, don’t spit out the tea,
And hope the pub stays open. Some pub is always open.
Think of Osaka. Think of Yasuko and Sanae, Michiko,
Akane, Sachiko, Rie, Rieko, Masako, Mari, Tomoko, Tomoe!
You can get a hard-on just from reciting their names.
So svelte and slim, so smooth-skinned, so non-Catholic!
So entirely free from sin. Sin? We say bad manner.
You should come back home, boy, and settle down!
Get away from me, yeh baldy fuckin clown,
I can think of three hundred reasons and more
For leaving Dublin Town.