THE PRIME OF Mrs ROSIE RYAN

Autumnal morn, unseasonably fair
Little midgets dancing in the air
I tied a ribbon in my hare
And set out for a dander.
As I demurly made my way threw a veritable labyrinth of honeysuckle-sented hi-ways and bye-ways, I was compes mentos of the repression I created. A red-hared, statuesque collen, dressed-alluringly in brown duffle coat, with wooden toggles, a blewbird blue gansey, pleated tartan skirt and a pear of black hobnailed boots, buffed to a shine with Cherry boot polish. Poetry in motion. I threw my too red knees out carelessley as I walked. I swung my slim, slender, girlish arms languidly, my perfectly formed head was erect, in the manner of Kate Moss and my hobnailed boots were laid on the surface of the muddy lane, with a light, fairy-like touch. I stopped every now and then too admire a fragile flour in the Autumnal brown bracken, or too gaze in wonder at a turd done by a stray dog. I was in-gay, carefree mood, I had my sun, the adorable wee Bon Jovi and my boyfriend, Chuck Corona, late of the Garda She-Kone and the fraud and corruption tribunals. My plump cheeks glowed red, like the tailights on a bicycle, the wind was my rouge. I had just a smidgen of cadalic pink lipstick on my pouting, sensual lips. A finger tip dipped in chimney suit was my mascara. I looked good and by God I new it. Overcome with girlish, child-like innocence, I skipped, danced, sang, whistled and let demure, gentile yelps, shrieks and gulders out of me. Life was good, long had I wandered in the desert of loneyness, but now, I had emerged into the green, fruitful oasis of love and plenty.
As I rounded a korner, full of gayitee de-cour, I was nearly run over by a big hallion on a bicycle. It was big Nellie Granite, her cheeks were bleezing and the eyes jumping out of her head. She lept off the bicycle like FRankie Dettori and yelled, "Ah Rosie, thank God its you, wool you hold my bike while I jump into this field for a slash, I'm fare hefted, so I am?" I konsidered the implications of the request and said, "KNow Nellie, I wool knot be a partener nor an accomplice two your alfresco slashing. The hole cuntry is talking about you, the fly Clougher boys call you, Nellie the piss pot, I can knot, I wool knot, give credance or succor two your uncontrolable slashing, some of it may rub off on me and I have my repution too think off. Know Nellie, I wool have nothing too do with your pernicious, persistant pissing"
"Damn you Rosie Ryan" yelled big Nellie, "You were the same at skool, an auld tell-tit, you had a hump on your back from running after Miss McSpittle with your nose stuck up her arse" "How dare you, you big fat gulpin" I yelled, "Miss McSpittle could sea I was special, a genie in a crowd of ignorant morans and half wits, Miss McSpittle could sea my wild hunger for learning, she knew of my love for arts and kulture, she was my mentor, she could forsee a day, when Rosie Ryan wood bring honour and pride to saint Judas skool". "Learning my arse" yelled Nellie, "You were a big, thick lump, you couldn't even spell cat". "Yes, I could" I roared. "K-A-T--kat and if you must know, K_I_T_T_L_I_N_G, spells, kittling" "Yes" yelled Nellie "and A-R-S-E spells-arse and you kan kiss my arse, you big, bag of blubber". I ejalucated violently, bristled and shuddered, "Get on that bike before I brust you" I roared. "You are nothing but a pissing Budda, you have bean scene squatting in every field round Clougher and surrounding districts. Get on that bike you big pisser, or by the wholly shroud of saint Elmer, I'll cure your pissing with my toe, I'll close up each and every oriffice with a good riser from my hobnailed boot" Big Nellie yelled, "You're nothing but a tramp Rosie Ryan, a tramp with the morales of a rattle snake, living over the brush with that big ugly, pox marked gulpin Chuck Corona". Full of ire, anger and fury, I rushed at the big, fat brute like a demented pole-kat. As Nellie threw her big, fat leg on the bike, I made a wild kick at her, slipped and landed on the broad of my back, giving a boy in an oncoming kar a flash of my azure blew drawers, with the frayed gusset, that had scene better daze. I jumped too my feet and ran after her, big Nellie tore down the road, peddling like the devil and leaving a trail of liquid behind her and by the smell of it, I could tell it was knot bicycle oil. "Auld piss the drawers" I roared, until she was out of site. Then I took a deep breath, deposed myself and continued my dander, ooh'ing and aah'ing at the wonderous beauty of nature.

An Autumn dusk, of smokey grey
Back homeward now, I make my way
A paris bun and a mug of tay
Then sleep--perchance to-dream.
Go now to www.greatshowlastweekkid.blogspot.com
Very few copies of my book, Rosie Ryan's Letters To Gerry Anderson left, grat stocking filler
go to jpmcmenamin@gmail.com
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