“Her Little Irishman”

by Thomas Page

My mother would praise me her Irishman.
“Can you see his auburn hair and rosy,
Cozy complexion. He’s a giant and
Grand in a room of others. An Irishman,
Helmsman of the Emerald Isle today.”
Lay your Shepherd’s Cap on my head, parade,
Serenade on St. Patrick’s Day old song
Long held in high regard of John Bull’s wrongs
Songs of freedom; but a hand pulled aside
Confide a new truth, “Your large one is not
Thought to be the Irishman but your son
Outdone by his Celtic black hair.” It was
Cause to call John the Irish one and me
Key to another culture– the Norseman,
Crewman of the invaders of Eíre
Clearly not made wholly Celtic rye.