There once was a man from St. Paul.
He was invited to join a bar crawl.
While his friends all puked green,
He was not to be seen;
He stayed home bingeing Better Call Saul.
My kids wanted to see the parade.
I took them downtown, unafraid.
But this crowd stirs my cortisol;
I’d like to kill you all.
Prison would be an upgrade.
In Chicago, the river’s dyed green.
Though the EPA should intervene—
From what I can tell
By the look and the smell:
That’s how it always has been.
Waking up super early for beer
Sounds as fun as my yearly pap smear.
But my friends doth insist,
So I don’t resist.
Now it’s noon and the popo are here.
“All people have some Irish gene, though!
From Kurt Russell to Mira Sorvino.”
He says this to me,
I say uncomfortably,
“Yeah. Um, I’m Filipino.”
Look at all these men publicly pee:
Not the Guinness tap I wanna see.
This St. Patrick’s Day,
Put your willies away,
Or be put on the ol’ registry.
Cabbage and corned beef delight:
They say it’s a cultural rite.
But if truth be told,
The taste is like mold,
And the Irish don’t feck with that shite.