THEY ONLY WANT
TO SING 'CARA MIA'
The Carmichals are out again - five drinks too late,
they're ranting like fools on vacation. Not one of their
eyes are focused, and they only want to sing 'Cara Mia'.
The one girl is already half half hanging out of her shirt;
not that I'm complaining, but doesn't anything fit around here?
The bartender - whom I've been watching - keeps taking
money off the bar; but that's what you get for being drunk
and leaving your dough around. They only want to sing
'Cara Mia'. There's actually a map of Ireland on one wall
here, with names and names and names - almost every
Irish surname you ever heard of, and the place from
which they originate - like a name map of Irish Kilkennys.
Of course, why any of this leads them to 'Cara Mia' again
is well beyond me. They only want to sing 'Cara Mia'.
The backs of both my hands are spattered with a new
dose of poison ivy, and I really want to itch but won't.
I thought that cutting hedges back on April first would
save me the poison ivy; still dormant, thought I. Not so,
now pay the price. (They only want to sing 'Cara Mia').
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