I'm not going to Ireland with all my friends
Unless they pay for my ticket, I'm not going
They all want to go, it's first on their list
Besides, what self-dubbed 'artsy' white person
who claims to have lived a fulfilling life
Has not been to Ireland once or twice?
I'm not really interested, they all ask why
They say, culture! Heritage! History! Beauty!
I remark in retaliation, What Irishman wants you there
Infiltrating their little country
With your obscure mannerisms and self-labeled decency
What bar wants to serve you, supposed clean mouth,
A drink in tradition a thousand years old
Who on earth wants cash from your greasy American pocket?
You say, 'But I'm not so American!
I'm independent! Respectful!
I'm a creative person, I like obscure things! '
You say 'I understand customs, I stand out from my people!
I can identify with things other cultures believe!
And I always dream of simpler times and of simpler ways! '
Humbug, American, sharp as a knife
Know ye nothing? Know nothing
About living real life?
So hip and youthful, cool and cynical,
With your gaze at the world
like you caught it masturbating
You interesting, sociable, likeable person
Starbucks, Macintosh, and your scathing wit
You're not my friend! I'm not going to Ireland!
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.