No Blarney Spoken Here

The following poem is a recant of a true story of a St. Patrick's day debacle that happened several years ago. To this day, not one of my three (now grown up) children have fessed up to the deed; therefore, what other explanation can there be? Pesky leprechauns!

Emerald Tricks
By Quizmo LaGrande

Tis a story well true, by gosh, and by gore,
A trick of the leprechaun isn’t just lore.
They saw fit to choose what they found quite enjoying,
A mighty slick feat I found quite annoying!

Corned beef and cabbage, traditional spread,
With carrots, potatoes, and wee soda bread
I planned for the making, I planned for the guests
Of fifteen stout Irishmen, and their ladies best.

Scrub, wash, and slave the castle walls clean
For a party the likes of St. Paddy’s not seen.
Corned beef is a beast, the cooking not toiling.
(It’s just that it takes several hours of boiling.)

The evening before St. Patrick’s big day,
I boiled the beastie the right proper way;
Plenty o’ garlic, pepper corns, spices, dill
And a pint of one hardy dark ale, if you will.

In a pot big as Ireland, meat simmered and stewed,
Heavenly smells wafted through as it brewed
And bubbled and cooked, till tender throughout,
Then let off the fire, delicious, no doubt.

Into the fridge to meld for the night,
The beef with the juice concocted just right,
Saved for carrots, spuds, cabbages lot,
Cooked the last minute, and served piping hot.

Green the décor, the shamrocks on high,
I pull out the beast as the guests did arrive.
The plan was to wrap it up snugly to heat
In the oven while vegetables boiled to a treat.

“All Saints preserve us!” My family heard cry
As I lifted the lid for the corned beef pot’s prize,
The color of shamrocks, of Erin, indeed,
The juice and the beast turned to emerald GREEN!

“How could this be? What happened?”
I cried,"Green as a lush Gaelic preened countryside!"
The smell was still sweet as the evening before
No mold or equivalents were beginning to grow,

Twas bright green as grass, as Christmas, as leaves,
Where once was pink, I was starting to grieve.
My grand dish for thirty, now fit for none!
What prankster turned goodness to mossy green scum?

I queried my family, no one had a clue.
An expression genuine on each face did ensue
Of shock at the sight of their dinner turned green,
Not delight at the mischief that caused such a scene.

I pondered and thought, “How could it be so?”
It didn’t smell sour, a wee taste proved it so.
But hardly a dish I could serve to my kin
Must be the leprechauns delivered such sin.

Now it was my turn to think up a trick,
Think up a dinner, and think it up quick.
“A darlin’ corned beef doesn’t cook in a wink.”
I thought as I poured me guests one hardy green drink.

As I watched my guests laugh and merrily swig
"Would they wonder," I thought as I danced a wee jig,
"If I cleverly planned festive meal in green clad,
That I’d blame on the wee folk, if truth be it had?"

So I boiled the veggies in green corned beef soup,
I heated the beast, baked the bread for the group.
On a lovely white platter displayed the green feast.
(Though potatoes seemed blue, and the carrots deceased.)

On a table set proud for a leprechaun king
My guests, eyebrows high, raised their glasses to sing
A toast to their hostess. A prayer to St. Pat.
And toast to the leprechauns (as I cursed the brats).

Then dig in, indeed, my guests did with great zeal.
(Though my family looked on with reluctant appeal.)
Green beer and banquet, such grand combination.
Good cheer and good hale--leprechaun liberation!
© Copyright 2003 Quizmo LaGrande (UN: quizmo at Writing.Com). All rights reserved.



Happy St. Patrick's Day!

(Don't forget to be wearing o' the green!)