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Patrick Street on St. Paddy’s Day
My heartfelt player, rock star in recovery,
chain-vaping comrade, mainstream loner,
’neath the mink sheen of young locks you let grow,
though I’ve grown sick of your wisecracks, Mike,
I’d still like to swill whiskey with you at your
magnetic muss of a bedsitter on Patrick Street,
where I could feel close as you finger your
old acoustic with the string missing,
where I could demonstrate my amusement
at your falsetto, riff a flippant face,
where I could confess my legend till you bleed,
where you could pull-off an accentuating dress
instead of those constricting red slacks, Mike.
Tell me how you kink, how you’ve harmed,
how many panties dropped, how much mush,
expound on the hell of your righteous shame,
where we could dirty sheets in your dryer, Mike,
where it’s us, not the rest of the pagan galaxy
or those moist sardines packed at Greensleeves,
where it’s only us and the cairn of our sighs.
Joe Bishop's work has appeared in numerous journals. In 2016, he received a Newfoundland & Labrador Arts & Letters award for poetry. His chapbook, Dissociative Songs, was published in 2021 (Frog Hollow Press). His first full-length collection of poems, titled Indie Rock, is slated for publication (University of Alberta Press) in early 2023. Joe lives in Newfoundland.