Putting On Greens with No Holes, by Kevin Byrne

so I’m putting on greens with no holes
Grafton Street is a penny old
and green tomatoes are ambassadors now,
so the question is
is there enough in our pockets for a pint?

obviously I’m putting on greens with no holes
when the barber has to sneeze in discarded hair
when Tuscany looks like Kinnegad in deepest January
and Wexford is a lake called Geneva
the question is
is there enough to cross the toll bridge?

so regardless I’m putting on greens with no holes
all graveyards are dogged by Thomas Hardy look-a-likes
they insist on standing in downpours on isolated farms
in Wessex repeating over and over again ”the question is
whose goin’ to be Baillie now!
I’m putting on greens with no holes
They’re rezoning land in Timbuktu
and the dentists are using continents for fillings.
I can remember when they used to leave cakes
on a circular platter in Bewleys
cream cakes, sugar buns and chocolate éclair empires
but the question is
is there a table left for us now?

There’s no point now in putting on greens with no hole under the January moon
they want to march through my sitting room with a flag
and melt the buttons on the alligators eyes.
I’m going home
To walk through the fireplace into a field of Franz Kafkas
the question is
is there fresh cod & chips
on the other side of Frank Sinatra?