BLACK IRISH*

We found him on the rocks,
me brother and me.
Looked almost drowned to death
but I put me hand to his chest
and he was breathing all right.
I got me brother
to load him up on our cart
and take him back into the hills
to our hut.
We didn't treat him
like the others did--strip
the coins from his pockets.
Not that this one had any coins.
He was dressed all in red
like them rowers
on the great Spanish ships.
Imagine a whole row of them
in those bright red outfits,
rowing like eejits across the seas
to fight the English.
One-eyed Jack here last night
told us how the English hanged
some of them Spanish sailors
but I kept mine hid.
Now I know our storytellers
are going to tell you
them Spanish sailors are how
we come by all our "Black Irish"
but I want to set the record straight.
That Spanish sailor we plucked
from the rocks
couldn't have knocked up a thing
the condition he was in.
He was near to his death
with fever and chill.
We put him in the sweat hut
for three days straight
and finally gave him a shot
of poteen.
That brought him round.
He couldn't a been more
than a score and two.
I was thirty and to tell you the truth
that's why me brother
lugged him all the way up
to our hut.
All the young men in our village
either left or married up
for a wee bit of land
so this sailor boy, yes,
I had me eye on him.
Looked so fine
in that bright red suit.
Then, when I undressed him,
Muscles you couldn't believe
from all that rowing.
Yes, I wanted him but
that floppy little piece
below his waist didn't rise
for a long time.
Of course, he couldn't speak a lick
of Irish
nor I Spanish
but when he finally came around
and had eaten potatoes and buttermilk
for three days straight,
as if he'd never had a decent
meal in his life,
and I had me back to him
scraping out the pots,
he reached around me and put
his dark hand
on me breast.
We tumbled down right there
on the earthen floor
and went at it
like animals.
Nine months later
Tommy was born,
hair black as a moonless night
but fair like me.
That Spanish sailor
still lives with me.
Neighbors are used to Carlos by now.
He even knows some Irish.
I patched up that little red suit
he came to me in.
Just feeling it excites me some.
There'll be more
little black-haired babies to come,
but I have to tell you
there's another story going round
about Carlos and me--
the one where the day of the wreck
he turned right over on the beach--
looked at me
and his cock was straight up.
I could see the bulge in his pants,
and he took me right there on the beach
as did all them Spanish sailors
with me sisters
like they was horny as hell
even if they were near drowned.
Well, it's not true!
Took more like seven days
for us women
to bring those men around.
It's me story
and I'm sticking to it.

*On May 28, 1588 , 130 ships with more than 30,000 men set sail from Lisbon .
Two thirds of the Spanish Armada were wrecked as storms defeated them.