Irish Whiskey by Bruce Morton

This fine Irish whiskey
Has become gold in the pot,
A distillation of themself,
Thrice done, once for the Father
Then for the Son, and finally
Then for the Holy Ghost.

The holy water pours from bottle
To glass, a wee sip, first on the lip,
Then on the tip of tongue, until
Sip becomes swallow and brogue’s
Breath breathes heart and home.
Sláinte.

Bruce Morton splits his time between Montana and Arizona. His poems have recently appeared in San Pedro River Review, Muddy River Poetry Review, Main Street Rag, Loch Raven Review, Ibbetson Street, and Sin Fronteras/Writers Without Border. He was formerly Dean of Libraries at Montana State University.