The little man pressed a button.
Floor parted, an opening appeared,
Leather stool elevated to a stop.
While he seated upon his rump,
Tapped it, third floor please!
Soon the bar top did surface.

Good day, Patrick McClover!
Your usual brew or a shot of
Fairy spirit juice to elevate
Your glorious Irish spirits?
Brew he stated, the rest later,
Giving Patrick an empty glass.

That filled upon his touch,
A brew that never was full
But it never ended up empty.
Before him, giants of Austin,
And an Irish-Texan bar tender,
Seeking the gold of his stories.

Holding his brew, stage please!
Stool elevated above the bar as
Patrick’s verse started its tall tale.
Putting his brew upon a shelve,
Eyes glued to every word’s spell,
Intoxication with every sips charm.

This was the Full Of Blarney Club!
Members of yarns and exaggerations, you
Know what they think of their members.
Patrick told of a story of flames coming
From Irish lasses, hair sending men afire.
Tempers sending them scurrying for cover.

Oh, so sensual a temperamental creature
Having to watch your words so carefully,
Needing to be quenched in her sweat.
Touching deep into one’s manly pride,
Arousing Banshee like screams of desires,
Sending men to drinking for more effects.

Master of the story telling fork lore, looking
Down at his golden keyed shamrock watch.
Deciding to rumble in the jungle awhile,
He told his captive audience to hold on.
Sitting down stating, second floor please!
Putting a smile of rejuvenation, going down.

An opening door sounded of wild times.
The bar did liven up from within its music,
While the chairs did quake ‘n rock ‘n roll.
Giants singing a tune of Irish Eyes Smiling,
Squirming seats listening to every fantasy.
Intermission grew quiet as Patrick returned.

Fairy juice time he shouted, quite the stud.
Soon opening the minds of men’s desires,
One by one, men left for their own flames.
You always knew, Austin was a rocking
When McClover was lighting the fuses!
Why lady luck blesses her Austin angels!

Patrick emptied his drink for the bartender.
Shook his hand and faded out the doorway.
Bartender smiled for he was recording,
As he started to listen, stardust did appear
To make static of clear words of magic.
Darn you, Patrick, I wanted to practice.

When in Austin, look in Fadó’s for Patrick
And the tall tales of Austin’s smiles
Inflating the minds in wild stories
Fabrications from Irish Americans
Many adopted in the spirit of smiles
Having a toast to the good ole times
And one Patrick McClover.

Note: Fadó, I found out later, is a chain out of Atlanta. I was attracted to my mind’s story telling ability in the atmosphere of the one in Austin. Moreover, I am attracted to the worldwide Irish spirit.

D.Lester
Somewhere in America not on company time 04/14 to 04/25/05 ©
The Terminated Free Spirited Poet