The Irish Rover
There’s an Irish pub on my corner. I see it from my kitchen window. It was so sad to hear it silent last night, to see the door closed, as it is today. COVID-19 is having its way, its short-lived malign way, with us.
Being brought up a proper Catholic boy, going to Catholic schools, taught by Irish nuns, administered to by Irish monsignors, Italian-descent kids of my generation can’t escape feeling a little bit Irish.
And kinda sad that Irish eyes weren’t smiling last night at the top of their off-key lungs. That some big-legged galoot in a kilt didn’t play the bagpipes for an awful half-hour outside the door of my little Irish pub, a spectacle I have come to wait for with a smile.