1At snuff no Cornish sailorman would sneeze
2when masons clutch the breath we held on loan
3her native chauffeur waited in the breeze
4the thumb- and finger-prints of Al Capone
5O Parthenon you hold the charger’s strings
6were pots graffiti’d over by a slave
7proud death quite il-le-gi-ti-mate-ly stings
8as sleeping-bags the silent landscape pave
9The genealogist with field and fess
10what things we did we went the whole darned hog
11while homeward thirsts to each quenched glass say yes
12Whiskey will always wake an Irish bog
13poor reader smile before your lips go numb
14they’re kings we’re mammal-cousins hi ho hum
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