Crazy Irish

by Ryan Quinn Flanagan

The beer and wine
are fine
but once I get into the whisky
the crazy Irish comes out
and I slather on the war paint
and howl at the moon
from my kitchen window
before picking one long stem rose
from my neighbour’s garden
for every crossword clue I get right
on the puzzle I’m doing.

By the next afternoon
when I go out to mail a letter,
the rest of the neighbourhood has come together
and each planted something
to replenish my neighbour’s garden.

The great advantage of being crazy
is that no one ever comments
on what you’ve done
for fear of

what you’ll do.