March 3, 2014

Dublin Pub

There's a few things that I learned in Ireland,
In a small Dublin pub,
Where a wooden door near the basement stairs would open around seven.

A different type of music would creep in as I asked for another drink.

It lead into a larger space,
And the younger Irish guys would dance throughout the night,
As they drank and flirted,
Picking out their favorites from the crowd.

I learned that some of us carry things for years.

A majority of ones life,
And that struggle doesn't have a citizenship.

When I asked you her name,
After I pieced the story together,
It was still too recent for you to reply.

It had been twenty years or so,
And she'd probably be a little older than me if she were still alive.

Further reading: An American in Dublin