paddy cake

by John Grochalski

she talks like
st. patrick’s day

hates the English

pours pints riding shotgun
with her irish brogue

tells us about her life
just outside of cork

how she chased an
irishman to america
in search of that elusive dream
we’ve been selling since 1776

how she took up with a yank
how it all fell apart
after they had three kids

said she wants to go back
despite ireland’s troubles

has a house waiting for her
but her yank husband won’t go

doesn’t want him there anyway
but he won’t let her take the kids

and you know these
american laws, she says
throwing more beer in my pint

he’s threatened me anyway
has thrown a pitcher of water at me
in front of his own kids

the only thing i can do
is keep calling the cops

but you know the cops
they’re worse here than in Ireland

and when she walks away
to fetch someone another
jim beam on the rocks

my wife leans in and tells me
that our little paddy cake

is also the waitress
at the diner we both like

after, i sit there
finishing off the new draft
musing over this news

thinking what a shame

because i really liked their
egg white omelet

the one with the bacon
and cheddar cheese.