I am a Woman...I’ll Leave it at That.

I am a Woman...I’ll Leave it at That.

I am a Woman
And I am unknown woman.
I live in a land that is hostile to me...

I live in a country that’s swaddled in blankets
Dark and obscure...pedantic.

Tucked up in a cradle of fiction and farce
A place without snakes…. but bigots can abide..

Lush Red-lined flesh ...broken rivers of beer
Round porridge faces and fat jowel-ly lears
Painted by the brushes from crude tiny palettes
The physic of a Gael is a man with bad habits.

He speaks of a Land…but not a country you’ll note.
Casts his vote from the stench of a low slurry pit
The colour is green and the visions are crazy
He talks of a race…without understanding.

His pocketed hand is a sharpened old Pike
It’s his tool of debate
Malice is high
Convictions consume him
Nibbling his nuts ...hairy with urine.

I on the outside
My existence denied
Never considered as one of the Tribe.

Under a brow of furtive suspicion
His gnashed yellow teeth have been whitened and polished
Been cleaned and been gleaned by a good Dublin Dentist
But his smile remains fierce with a vinegar lining.
The myth of a Gael is a song recreated
A gael is a man whose a pillar of good
With cunning genuflection to solid Gold Gods
Kissing the rings of Pope after Pope
The prayer on his tongue’s a repetitive mantra
Hearing nothing but jargon and virtuous ritual
The Message is simple
Anti Anglo...anti Women...except for the Mammie
Whose maltreated breast...gave him life.

The myth of a Gael is a song recreated
To be a true Gael I have to be him
Love Popes and the rich...get down on my knees
And kiss Kings

But I am unknown...and have nothing to say.
I am a woman...I’ll leave it that way.

Kristine Byrne…Aug 2010/Revised 28th Feb 2012