If I Were In An Irish Pub Alone
If I were in an Irish pub alone, as has often been the case
It is your face I would see at the bottom of my mug.
I would reach into my wallet for a dollar
For the jukebox, to play your favorite song
And ask the bartender to pour your image once more.
And when arrived the inevitable last call
I would finish my glass, as to kiss you goodnight,
Set you down and stagger out the door.
If you've any comments on this poem,
Jason Smith would be pleased to hear from you.