Andropov, Ronnie, and Me by John Doyle

I was the front page photo of the Irish Times
back in 1982,
some kid from some faraway national school was wheeled in beside me,
as men who drank Rolling Rock after clocking off –
just picture our John Deer hats still
riveted to our skulls,
two of us dancing all sarcastic to Springsteen’s
The River
‘cos no girls would dance with the likes of us,
though historians will never know how it really went down –
he could be
interviewed on Saudi tv today
about how he
misses “the Guinness” and doesn’t intervene
when the presenter calls Irish “Gaelic”,
not that a high flying Mick
would speak it anyway –
I mean come on, I was just turned 7, standing by the crib
in a Dublin church,
piss wet-beds and Han Solo waistcoat fantasies were all I really had.

Sometimes I would show this to girlfriends
on micro-films in libraries
like nothing else ever happened in my life,
Rolling Rock bottles tinkling down a staircase
from men wearing John Deer caps,
while Reagan and Andropov muttered about me
being a headline stealing little brat,

most of the time
it was just a set of keys jangling from a librarian’s jittery hands,
most of the time, I guess.

John Doyle
John Doyle Bio: The only good bio is a bio strung-up outside some gold-prospector’s wooden shack with his dog Jake sniffing at its last remaining remnants of sanguine flesh; So I will keep it simple, I’m from County Kildare, Ireland, and I love nothing more than stumbling across 3rd Division football games in Slovenia or Belgium on a Sunday morning as a welcome interlude while trying outsmart fellow bio hunters.
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