By VICTORIA SCHMIDT

I arrived
Where the weather
Is as
Unpredictable
As itself

A strange mixture
Of friendly
Handsome
Young men
Aggressive
Dogs
And an ESB
That went off
Twice
In two days of storm
And rain

Everyone
Dresses just so nice
And looks so good
That
The recession
Seems to be a
Fearful rumour

Students
Bright and rough
Inhabit the classrooms And night clubs Everyone
Is also
So drunk
With
The bitter beer Their pennyless ancestors
Loved as well

Not to forget
About the cider
Sweet As are the fragile beauties In their high-heels Who pretend to ignore
With bored glances
From beneath their glossy magazine haircuts
The sporty lads

Blowing the prohibited
Cigarette smoke
Against bleached strands
Of carefully straightened hair
But watch the fellas
Who wear only clothes
That have a first and last name

Luckless cornerboys
And happy Hurlingchaps
Trying to show off
These are the young
Who do not know
That the Celtic Tiger
Was once
Nothing more
Than a natural impossibilty

Tradition
Is for the old
Tomorrow night
Belongs to the
Bold
Let the tourists Who do not know better Have their folklore
Their lunchtime trads
And the old, mouldering stones
Of Selskar Abbey
Let them take photos
Of the red haired
And the sheep
And the green grass
Whilst you are
Travelling the world

Who would dare to
Judge you?
Friendliness is inherited to you
Soft and caring in middle aged years
Of an easygoing nature more
At your age
Tolerating much
But accepting only
A little

This is not
What I expected
But I learned my lesson now
Stereotypes and cliches
Won’t affect a suitcase’s weight
Of one’s Ryanair
Or Aerlingus
Limit
But they
Are a weight on one’s
Mind

So I will
Keep on trying
To understand
The rolling rhythm
Of your melodious dialect
With which you
Make your brilliant
Little speeches
On sports
Or education
Or the weather
That will change
As my
Impressions of
This
Modern Ireland