Luck Of The Irish
The Irish love their horses.
It’s a long tradition
which survives urbanisation
among young working class people
in parts of Dublin,
people seemingly like me.
They take them along the city streets,
into supermarkets, on buses,
even up in the lift to their new home
on the balcony of an apartment.
The stories are legion.
And the Irish love their stories.
But I was not like them.
I couldn’t be part of that story.
I find horses just too big, too strong,
too high from the ground.
Even on a seaside donkey I was afraid
I’d take a tumble from the saddle
or be nudged and trampled into the sand.
I was sure that it was only
by the luck of the Irish
that I survived.
Yes, Lady Luck loves the Irish.
But I know for certain now
that when I join that wild eyed horse
on the balcony
the luck of the Irish
is bound to desert me.
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