Freedom Patrick

The saint which glows like escaped tears
of the crescent blue-green ponds in Edinburg--
somebody pinch me--
for not seeing the truth of today
when we celebrate
the bands trumpeting
down the streets in
quilts and bagpipes,
their savour at the lead in green,
yelling that it's not about the collapsing economy
or the internet but
the ladies, the short shorts
and green skirts, Karaoke dancing
stelletto heels moving on top of the bar,
club lights and beer dripping off the chin.