Give you *****
and you will be the hurricane,
the whirlwind, the torment
that will cause a crevice
in our lives.

Give you ***
and you will sing
tales of Irish history
and a lively session
will begin.

Give you cider
and we will spend our night
on the wrong side
of a cubicle door,
drowning in plight.

Give you tequila
and you will dance
until your soles ache -
then you will bare your soul,
all the troubles in your closed world.

Give you a mineral
and say it is any of these
and you will act
the very same.
A replica of the offensive.
A blind drunk relic.