Molasses by John Doyle

The fat-guy from college comes from the U.S. of A.,

arm-wrestling better men than him in local bars

proves nothing, he loses cabbage every time,

its only benefit being that he hangs out with death’s

dark-hearted minions in places better losers than him

hang-out in, back in the U.S. of A.

The fat guy from college isn’t fat like Walter Matthau, 

or Jackie Gleason,

he’s fat in ways that get him called “putz” and “shlump” back home,

words us shamrock kids adore, 

words that trump “Bollocks” 

“Cunt” and “Prick”

every time. Speaking of Jackie Gleason, you remember that time

he threatened to barbeque the bandit’s ass in molasses?

Maybe it was the bandit, I can’t remember, 

I was 7 years old or something,

thinking of fat Americans and what could make them fatter - 

molasses, barbeques, 

beer-slurping in some shithole 

that fat American student kid has just lost 

another arm-wrestling showdown in.

Molasses - what a word - 

someone should sing a blues song about molasses,

as pool balls smash through windows after bars shut down, 

as fat student boys

struggle to run home, asses barbequed in molasses, 

armed with their first short story.

 John Doyle became a Mod again in the summer of 2017 to fight off his impending mid-life crisis; whether this has been a success remains to be seen. He has has two collections published to date, A Stirring at Dusk in 2017, and Songs for Boys Called Wendell Gomez in 2018, both on PSKI's Porch.

He is based in Maynooth, County Kildare, Ireland. All he asks is that you leave your guns at the door and tie up your horses before your enter.