At the risk of sounding sexist
I’d like to pay my highest respects today
to the girl at my accountant’s
with the beautiful *******.
Usually the only things that jiggle there
are the numbers on the ledger,
but today a couple of numbers
stuck out for me to admire.
She knew it all added up spectacularly well
as she bent down obligingly
and pointed out where I should sign
and showed me what I needed to see.
She knew and I knew that
capital gains and expenses
were comparatively insignificant here.
Saucy insouciance was the obvious upside.
Of course, I shouldn’t have noticed,
but then I'm afraid that's what happens
when you’re more
of a ******
than an entrepreneur.

Mike T Minehan

When I was casting about
for the title of my autobiography,
Innocent Bystander was one of them
until I thought that, well,
none of us are all that innocent, really.
We can’t blame everyone else. Can we?
That would have been almost as bad as
Not Entirely My Fault.
Then I thought of
In the Thick Of It,
even What the ****, or
Jeez, That Was Close.
But I started to think that Completely By Accident
would be best because, well, everything did sort of happen
Completely By Accident. More or Less,
Even though I suspect I also had
Some Role in Their Execution,
which was another title I thought of.
Dismissed Out of Hand was yet another possibility.
I also decided not to use Completely ******* Weird and
Diving for Deep Cover.
Outrageous Fortune didn’t make the cut, either.
But do you get the feeling sometimes that we're
dealing with Outrageous Fortune
and Forces Outside Our Control?
Just a teensy-weensy bit?
So then I wondered What Are They Going to Say At My Funeral?
Which is why I thought I should start with
Get Your Say In First.
But You Can’t Get Away From the Truth,
which is why I haven’t decided on a title yet.
I Need More Time.
Which is probably the best title of them all.
When You Think About It.

Mike T Minehan

If only I could write a poem
as brazen as an orange autumn leaf
tumbling along the street,
or sounds like rain
drumming of on an iron roof
or the rich, deep smell of earth
after the rain squall passes,
even the murmur of breeze in trees
and the song of cicadas
on soft summer evenings.
Yes, the single call of birds that thrill me,
or the magnificence of the setting sun
saluting the end of day.
The spin of sycamores
like little helicopters in the wind
and then, of course,
the dragonfly that darts and pauses
so impossibly along the lazy rivers.
And what about the lotus blossom
and the flowers that bloom in billions,
every day unseen?
The hulk of mountains holding up the sky.
The effervescence of the Milky Way
wheeling across forever.
Then there’s the kaleidoscope of colors
caused by a single drop of oil on water.
Smudged mascara after tears.
The majesty of self.
A child’s hand holding yours.
The gift of love.
A smile.
If only I could write these poems.
If only I could write.

Mike T Minehan

There should be rules
about girls asking “will you marry me?”.
when they’re giving you a *******
and then they wait until just before
the Convulsive Cataclysm,
before they say, “so, will you marry me? Eh?”
Or even worse,
admitting their lover to the voluptuous depths
of their Secret Garden and then
pausing to say “will you marry me?”
just after they’ve peeled the curtains back
to offer the Apple of Omniscience.
I mean, of course a man is humbly grateful,
but he's not thinking clearly
during the calamity of ecstasy
and the drowning pools of pleasure.
There should be rules.

Mike T Minehan

Give me succor!
Yes I need a lot of succor because
I went down to my word factory today
and there was no one there.
They just walked off the job!
So how am I supposed
to write anything meaningful?
Eh? Words fail me!

But if nobody gives me succor
and I’ve gotta set up my own Succor Center,
there could be some serious misunderstandings,
like, you better give me some succor
or I fukka you up right now.
Yes. There are people out there like that.
And others who want you to toss their salad
not to mention those who think I said sucker
instead of succor and that I'm asking for
some sloppy top. What?

But hey! I’m not going to stay silent and suffer.
So now I’ve designed a T shirt
with How About Some Succor? on the front
and I’m going to wear this and try to sell these
and see what happens.
I might even get some succor after all.
Or something.


Mike T Minehan

My hometown was rough
because teddy boys and mods and rockers
off the cargo ships from Glasgow and the docks
and slums of England rocked the streets
and knocked the local toughs
out silly with their knuckledusters.
They also slashed them with their razors and their chains.
Yeah, but my friends and I had a revolver
when we were kids
and we used to try and shoot out streetlights
on dark and stormy nights.
We missed, but we could have shot
those boaties close up for all their street frights and
all their ****** peccadilloes like ******* local girls
and leaving a league of nations in their wake.
We didn't pull the trigger there,
but they shouldn’t have got away with snickering
among themselves that they could
pull girls’ knickers down when they wanted,
and scare us with their their flick knives.
We let them get away with thinking
we were easy pickings
in that small town where I was born.
But it’s just as well, really.
I'm glad we didn't take their lives.  

Mike T Minehan

I met a ****** today,
and no, she didn’t actually tell me.
She kept this tight and was
really shy and polite about it.
But I guessed, because, well,
she's passionate, and trembling on the brink,
like a strung bow, quivering to release,
and she's straining to please her father,
who has the highest standards,
and the rest of her family, who have the highest standards,
and she has the highest standards,
and she's trying to live up to these highest standards,
and her Khmer culture is conservative,
also with these highest moral standards.
Gee. There are so many high standards here,
except for politics and the ****** of protestors
in this country. They're a high standard of
retribution and execution, in the back of the head.
Yeah, culture can be cruel sometimes,
especially in Cambodia.
Anyway, this girl’s trying to keep it together
and, well, there’s so much I could teach her.
But, look. I’m not the one to give her advice,
or to point my finger, or anything else, here.
It’s called the journey of life.
She has to figure it out and fit in for herself, see?
But wow. She's really beautiful in this innocent way.
So maybe you'll forgive me, briefly,
when I think of toxophily, improperly,
not to mention other recreational activity.
But honestly, I like and respect her,
and I appreciate her integrity.
Although I wish that everyone
would just wish her to be happy
instead of all of this responsibility and respectability
stuff about morality and virginity.
And for those who try to keep her in purgatory,
well, I wonder about their own purity. Yeah.
Just a few thoughts on equality
or maybe jealousy or hypocrisy here.
But hey! She's twenty-two! It's her time to be free.
She can still have *** and be pure.
It's called love, see? Not necessarily matrimony.
And anyway, virginity's not for a committee,
this is her own destiny.
Love is the answer.
It's really simple. See?

Mike T Minehan