a bit of bonhomie

In any other country,
peacock men get off
on being admired
swaggering, jiving, preening, enjoying
the attention, showing off
their gear, their shades, “they’re in”;
Wicked threads, man, like your style
Strutting down the street, all bling and shimmying
Lookin’ good, man!
Lookin’ gooooood.

Street corners: theatres, boulevards of chic,
hanging around, impressing the chicks, slagging each
other, slagging the chicks,
impressing each other

but why is it in dear old Ireland
men despise attention from other men?
Scowl, grit their teeth, a sneer

In no other country,
“Who are you lookin’ a’?”
Is a threat

Any time I look at a man on a street
my street, inner city dub,
a lad with a swagger, bandy legs and atti-chewed
I catch his eye, and he
automatically – instinctively –
hawks and spits

He hawks and spits.

Tough man. Don’t be looking at me or you’ll get a dig.