Ronnie McGinn's Poetry Page

It's Lent ! Some people nearly missed it. Our poem this week comes from Billy McCarthy who loves to follow our web site. Billy a prominent member of The Douglas Writers Group in Cork, and well know locally for his traditional style of writing.

Rash Resolutions

The promises of Lenten-time are genuine to a fault,
And intended to surpass the test of time,
When you make your resolution to forsake the weed and malt,
And rid yourself of all that tar and grime.
You face Ash Wednesday bravely with a sunny, glowing smile,
And all the world is well, or so you say,
Then the morning turns to mid-day and the evening turns to night,
And you've survived a full sixteen-hour day.

Then you wake up Thursday morning and you spring out of the bed,
Full of beans and looking forward to the test,
But reality assails you when you feel your aching head,
And you realise you're not feeling at your best.
So you roll into the sack once more and cover up your head,
And life's not so attractive as you thought,
And you think about the "ciggy" you discarded yesterday,
And remember the mint chewing gum you bought.

Life's not really worth the living, too much stress and too much strain,
All your friends have turned against you, and you're sad,
But you struggle on regardless and you face the wind and rain,
And you wonder what conceived this smokeless fad.
Then you reach the workplace nonetheless and colleagues gather round,
And inquire about your Lenten sacrifice,
Sure they give you great encouragement and compliments abound,
And you feel that all the effort's worth the price.

Then comes the morning teabreak with the banter and the craic,
And stories from the pub the night before,
And you wonder at this stage if you should really buy a pack,
'Cause you're cranky and you're brassed off to the core.
Now you know you're not so pious, and of questionable faith,
And you're longing for that mighty thirst to wet,
And you know the world would benefit from people such as you,
If you could only have one lousy cigarette.

But you're still alive at lunchtime and you've beaten all the odds,
And your mates declare you "martyr to the cause",
And you sense the admiration in your friends' approving nods,
While you feel a strange sensation in your jaws.
Its that dammed accursed chewing gum you've munched throughout the day,
Playing tricks on your addiction all the while,
But still it played a major role and kept the urge at bay,
And in all your misery you have to smile.

Now the days are passing quietly and you long for Patrick's day,
When abstainers will be granted a reprieve
From the agony they've suffered, when a brightly shining ray,
Will accompany the respite they receive.
And when the blessed day arrives and goodwill shrouds the land,
And love and joyous wishes are provoked,
You greet your neighbour kindly with a friendly, outstretched hand,
And, you've guessed it, you forget you ever smoked.

© Billy McCarthy