David McLansky

(5/24/1944 / New York City)

The 1976 Irish Guide


Such a girl, such a glory walker.
A simple mind, not a talker;
We hiked all over County Claire
And lunched on cheese and stolen pears;
An American girl on holiday,
The greenest eyes in Galway Bay;
We hiked the Ring of back-roads Kerry,
Gypsies light, strong and merry;
The barren fields of famined Connaught
That echoed griefs the British wrought,
But oh, the Loughs of Mayo County
Where she surrendered all her bounty;
I was just her singing Bard,
And she, my love, my tourist ward;
We laughed and walked down farmers lanes,
And drank in pubs ‘till half insane;

In a field we set up camp
In the drizzle, misty damp,
I undid your U.S. Army shirt
We lay on grass and peat and dirt,
Exposed your breasts to the rainy vapor
(Your glowing eyes condoned my favor ;)
I kissed them round their circled orbs
And told you of the Cliffs of Mohr;
Ah, Ireland in the summer heat,
How all the locals baa-ed like sheep,
“My God, it must be seventy-five! ”
My God t’was good to be alive!

On a hill I watched her plane
Ascend the sky from my terrain;
I waved my stick, your Irish Nanny,
Then shouldered pack and walked to Cranny;
My lovely summer American lass,
Left me her old Eurail Pass;
Ah, next year she’ll do it on a train
And love another, but not Dumain.

Submitted: Wednesday, April 24, 2013
Edited: Wednesday, September 25, 2013
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