I don't write topical poems but today I make an exception.
listening absent mindedly to a talk show host in the USA
called Sean Hannity. Sounds like an Irish name to me.
You know, the motherland of the poets,
the muscians, the dreamers.
Lo and behold he answered the phone this time
and instead of dead air it was a fellow American
wildly playing the harmonica.
what is this the host asked clearly already beyond miffed
overriding the riff, but harmonica man kept playing.
why and it's music, Sean, the kindly leprechaun on my
right shoulder soothed.
After, the guy explained the piece was called go out and vote.
He was so cheerful and expectant
after his impromptu surprise concert unsolicited.
a free lance harmonica guy and optimistic.
Sure and he wasn't expecting pitch rained down on his head
even if he wasn't pitch perfect and played faster than the
Wabash Cannonball probably due to nerves.
I was charmed myself, a charmed listener
also of Irish descent, Mr. Hannity.
Thank you, you barked to the caller
after telling him TWICE his harmonica sounded like screeching.
Not so very nice Hannity almost scowled my leprechaun.
only half astride the rainbow now. And click,
the phone went dead and not even taking a breath
you said to staff on the air well, you know
And then the you know what hit the fan.
And now I am not a fan of semi Irish Mr. Hannity.
WHO IS SCREENING THE CALLS TODAY, Sean screeched.
You're supposed to be a mother hen. You're not representing me.
What are you representing Mr. Hannity?
you with your political blather.
the last time I checked the harmonica
was a worthy musical instrument
of Americana. How creative of the caller to serenade you.
remember the old westerns, the boys by the fire
after the long cattle drive
the lonely sound of the harmonica there or by the
railyards drifting nostalgic while we real Americans
can't keep a dry eye but you certainly did.
Red River Valley and all that. or is that not top hat to you.
How ungrateful and high and mighty toora loora you were.
WHO'S SCREENING MY CALLS.
as if a harmonica getting through
was the lowest form of life to you.
the most offensive.maybe you'll come down
with a case of railroad blues cooties
you're so above the folkloric apparently.
you thank your lucky stars I guess for it but
Are you really from Ireland, somewhere back there anyway?
God forbid you represent those who are.
mary angela douglas 8 april 2016