I say our spell check’s
rather daft
to underline in red
my use of amn’t.
I am not impressed
when you tell me
it isn’t valid,
despite the Irish
lips that speak it,
adding it’s a stunt,
to inflame
the English snobs,
the ones who lift
their crumpets in the air,
sing Charles is our King!
Amn’t I your girl?
Joyce in Ulysses
came to write,
and none would dare
to insert an
erratum slip,
citing it as err.
You’re not in Ireland
now, Boland as a
girl was told
when she sprung the word
in class,
immortal now in verse
she penned
without a second thought,
as will I, in a poem
that even you'll
refuse to read,
unless I write
a second draft,
for a sharp-eyed
London editor,
who has never set a foot
in Cork or Dublin,
one who knows a typo
when they see it.
Andreas Gripp
July 28, 2023
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