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And Words Are All I Have
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Almost every seaside town in Ireland has one.
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This one answers to Finnegan.
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No mutt was ever more streetwise,
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just who is a soft touch,
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Finnegan makes his rounds daily.
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First to Mrs. Tyrell’s Bake Shop for a day old bun.
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If he's lucky they've remembered him
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at O’Riordan the Butcher's with a decent bone.
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Then it’s down to the rectory for a ladle full of yesterday's soup
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and a neck rub from Father Tam.
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Afternoons mean dozing on the pier,
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a sure-fire tourist draw.
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His bedraggled coat brings out the mother in everyone, it seems.
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By nightfall his belly is full.
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He knows where he can keep dry and out of the cold.
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And on frosty nights there are warm grates outside the pubs.
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But there is no master awaiting him,
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his wise wee self sleeps alone.
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News at 11 Warren Beatty will now be remembered as the old guy who screwed up at the Oscars. Forget his landmark films, his dangerous Clyde Barrow looks. That scene in Reds where he and Keaton reunite at the train station, The one that left you breathless: I saw it in a commercial the other day for Citibank. All of …
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No More Rust Now that scientists in Beijing have discovered how to slow down aging in monkeys, will we learn how to stop all of nature next? Think. No more showers of autumn leaves. Gone, the soulful, wrinkled hands, Happy Retirement cards. Bid goodbye to old faithful dogs, plastic surgeons, Lens Crafter stores, Gone, too, those gloriously aged porpoises, wizened …
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