Whatever it is, it’s never your fault,
so build on a flood-plain, what could possibly go wrong.
When crossing a bridge bring petrol and matches,
the resultant blaze will be seen for miles.
Feeding the cat is a kindly act,
feeding it to the dog is not.
Your memory closet is full of bleak suits,
wear the darkest each night in bed.
Pick drunken fights with your late-night self, you might even win once in a while,
your body is a beautiful thing, so abuse it early and as often as possible.
Always have access to buckets of sand, enough to comfortably bury your head,
participative democracy is deader than Dodos, just follow the leader, loudest is best.
The face of God can be found in the stars
or a slice of bread dropped jam-side down.
Love is transformative, so is tequila,
both will lead to handcuffs and tears.
Knowing good stuff is bad so don’t,
but revel in ignorance, roll in its’ bliss,
you’ll always look better when covered in crap.
Mick Corrigan has been writing poems since Moses was a boy and has been published in a range of periodicals, anthologies, magazines and on-line journals. He is in his fifties (at least he thinks they’re his fifties, they could be someone else’s). He divides his time equally between Ireland, Crete and the vast open space in the back of his head. His first collection, “Deep Fried Unicorn”, was released into the wild in 2014 by Rebel Poetry Ireland. He has been nominated for a Pushcart Prize 2017/2018.