Wet Dublin Day (Sonnet)

Wet Dublin day, cold, steam, pub comfort food.
Cork beating Limerick, rugby I think,
on the big screen. Cave dim. Young Irish dudes.
Guinness, green. Old friends. Shouts and glasses clink.

Crowdly din, cheers, bring him another drink.
If baseball, golf, soccer, rugby, football
mixed together, maybe cricket I think.
Limerick finally scores, boys standing tall.

Root for the green, it's always the right call.
Commercials, announcers, watching the talk.
Half-time chatter, replays, eye on the ball.
The. Sunday. Game. Hanging out on the block.

Heading out back under the rainy sky.
Feels like home again, this time passes by.

© Christine Salkin Davis, 2019

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