Tonight's Poet Corner: Cider Shack Budget
Cider Shack Budget
by Belinda Roddie
The utility bill at the
O'Connell Cider Shack
is just obscene - but that's what
happens when you devote your
Irish pride to serving cold,
crisp pome nectar to the
post-famine-obsessed full-bloods.
Doesn't help when your best customer's a
Shannon mayor who dreams of
owning the Guinness Factory.
Still, it's rejuvenating to see
stark faces over chip-laden plates,
the hot spice of a
Celtic Tiger day, the raw
smell of body odor mixed with
stout and cream - and the good old
iced half pint of Tipperary's
fertility, chilled to perfection, to be
sipped through one corner of the mouth while
smoking a cigarette in the other corner.
Life's a bitch, but
at least you can drink.
by Belinda Roddie
The utility bill at the
O'Connell Cider Shack
is just obscene - but that's what
happens when you devote your
Irish pride to serving cold,
crisp pome nectar to the
post-famine-obsessed full-bloods.
Doesn't help when your best customer's a
Shannon mayor who dreams of
owning the Guinness Factory.
Still, it's rejuvenating to see
stark faces over chip-laden plates,
the hot spice of a
Celtic Tiger day, the raw
smell of body odor mixed with
stout and cream - and the good old
iced half pint of Tipperary's
fertility, chilled to perfection, to be
sipped through one corner of the mouth while
smoking a cigarette in the other corner.
Life's a bitch, but
at least you can drink.
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