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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