Bhi Mo Chroi I Mo Bheal! (My Heart Was In My Mouth) Poem by Dónall Dempsey

We sit among
the blooming heather.

You smile.

'It's nice here! '

And then
as if you were an echo

'It's nice here! '

You pat
the heather
as if it were
a pet.

'Here
come sit
here beside me! '

I do so

fearing the worst
may happen and

...it proceeds to
do so.

You nonchalantly
placing a hand

as if you didn't mean to
(but oh you do...you do)
upon my knee.

You smile
almost secretly
to yourself.

'Mmmmmm...that's a pretty
patella! '

I laugh nervously
at your audacity
and your use of the proper medical term.

Fear that you do but
dally with me

and that your intentions
are less than

honourable.

My honour I fear
(if I am not mistaken)
is at stake.

You smile
(so it appears)
so innocently

but you don't fool
me.

Your hand moving
somewhat upward

at some speed.

Indeed.
Indeed!

'Tartan is so teasing so
...tantalising! '

You muse(to your self) .

'It's very pleasing I(gasp)
admit! '

'Oh my! '

I try to catch my breath but it
...escapes me.

It may not have been
your intention

but you have now
my full attention.

Your other hand
the one on view

is momentarily both
intrigued & distracted

by my
sporan

as your other hand
discovers

just what...

'MMMM...so that's wot a Scots
wears unders his skirt! '
(as you keep calling it) .

'It's a kilt...I'm kilt telling you...a kilt! '

'...nothing! '

'How interesting? '

You push me
back on my back

the smell of
heather & sex

hangs heavy
in the air

you raise my skirt
('It's a kilt...a kilt...I tell ya! ')

but you are
not even listening

as if in a trance
you raise your own

and mount me
ride me

to the gates of Hell
(spit at the Devil)
and back

yelling
in the only Gaelic

you know:

'Oh...my chroi! '

'Oh mo Dhonall...mo Dhonall! '
'...mo chroi! '

********


My Irish was never what it should be and I struggled endlessly with it! That old chestnut MY HEART WAS IN MY MOUTH I do be rememering in particular and every essay(whatever essay it was...whether it be A DAY AT THE SEASIDE or A VISIT TO THE DENTIST.) and always...always...my heart was in my mouth.

For those of you who have little or no Irish(as myself) and who may wanmt to read it phonetically...the Gaelic goes something...like this.

For those of you who many not know the patella is your kneecap. Now you know.

A sporran is that rather hairy thing that hangs between a man's legs and in which he possibly keeps his kirk(dagger) or small change.

'Oh muh cree...oh muh Gonall...muh Gonalll! '

('Oh my heart.. oh my Donall...my Donall! '

BHI MO CHROI I MO BHEAL!
(MY HEART IS IN MY MOUTH)
(V MUH CREE I MUH VALE)