Da, the Melodeon - A poem by Dave Lordan

Da, the Melodeon

for Pat Cotter

Of quavers and keys

Da hasn’t a notion

 

But still an’all

he plays the melodeon

 

He can white-pudding the moon

beamish the ocean

 

Fry seventeen eggs

and play the melodeon

 

Ignoring gales and floods

and coastal erosion

 

He stands on Saint Fin Barre’s

and plays the melodeon

 

He hammers the Trojans

and leathers the Spartans

 

As he snores on the sofa

and blows the melodeon

 

One Christmas Eve well-on

he stripped down to his jocks

 

And he rodeoed a herd

of buffalo in the garden

 

The horns enlocked

the whirling snouts

 

The nipples of all

bellowed with emotion

 

I loved all that

but was more thrilled

 

By his right left foot

that played the melodeon

 

Of quavers and crotchets

Da hasn’t got a notion

 

Yet the muses adore him

when he plays the melodeon

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