Imperfect answer to a prompt: "Where do you come from?"
Once upon a time I moved back home,
After years Away-
Quite by accident, I assure you.
Now time and again,
Auld Wans will lean in to ask
"Well so, now, are ye settled?
Daughter, are ye happy here?"
The "Yes" seems to be assumed
Before the question has even landed-
Jarring and inevitable,
Like the daily Ryanair from Over the Water.
But it's not so simple-
For God forbid anything
On this sainted isle should ever be
So sinful as to be straightforward.
'Tis a miserable, wet, cauld place-
Ye'd not be long Gettin' Frostbit-
Unless Will Grigg is still on fire.
But, sure, never worry about the immersion,
Or democracy and equal rights-
Big Arlene has the boilers running anyhow.
Ach, we'll be grand,
For there has been a jar of poitín
At the back of the hall cupboard,
Since before the dinosaurs
Faked their own deaths and
Devolved to become politicians.
Now wheest and eat your sassidge rolls
And take your brown lemonade-
But mind which fleg you wipe your mouth on-
And don't forget to always say your prayers:
“Now God save us from
The Ra and the Pope-
And Blessèd Virgin protect us
From the ghost of King Billy
Hiding under our beds."
And so the Auld Wans still ask
"Daughter, are ye happy now?"
And I always say "Perhaps".
For I've enough sins under my belt
And God forbid I should err,
Betray my heritage,
And give a straight answer.
Perhaps you must have lived here for this to make any sense.