Where Is Your Jacket Young Man? Poem by Jinjah Man

As Gerry lurches towards the garden of the Ambassador's Residence
to infuse the Austrian undergrowth with James's Gate's juice
my baby liver is out on its own
adrift on the ice - but no bucket.
The ambassador asks: Where is your jacket young man?

toasting youth
burning memories
-meshed more than etched,
stretched more than cached-
more satirical than sartorial
my demeanour displaying
Käse Krainer stains on my grey coat
Neon green lace for Paddy's day

but all's not destroyed

for my pen rests now as scroll unfurls
and young man as old man redances old steps

Our Docs, worn 'neath the dishevelled apparel
strode home to wreak havoc on car badges;
our shameful anti-authoritarian Doc Martin 'Stempel' impressions;
our fingers and toes ought to have been clamped
our livers twisted and wrung out before some court or other

but no; we got away - ran away with it

And then blasted the Viennese night air with
thick banjo and celtic folked up baritone
primed for yet more wild hedon soakage.

My jacket sat in the future Mr Ó Riain,
and waited for Wildness to subside