Irish Pipe Bomb

"Have a shot boy."

"What the hell is this?"

"Don't smell it. Drink it.
It'll make you a man."

The fire hit my mouth,
throat, eyes, and stomach
in an instant.
Then the amber liquid
flew back up
and made an
Irish Stew mingled mess
on the floor.

"Great creeping Jesus,
what in the hell are you doing
feeding a pipe bomb to the boy?"

Digger and I were in Charlottetown, PEI.
It just happened to be his 19th birthday,
I guess that made me 13.
Memories have a funny way of distorting
the time line of the last 20 years.

Our family and friends from South End,
invited us downhome, and since Digger
could drive, and we loved to drink,
we loaded up in Al's Plymouth Volarie
for a mid winter road trip.

Rolling out at 0645 when I was supposed
to catch the school bus, would get us underway
without mom and dad canceling the trip.
We would call from the ferry slip
to tell mom that I wasn't going to be home for dinner.

"Don't smell it. Drink it.
It'll make you a man."

The fire hit my mouth,
throat, eyes, and stomach
in an instant.
Then the amber liquid
flew back up
and made an
Irish Stew mingled mess
on the floor.

Three weeks worth of skipped school,
alcohol poisoning, and a broken nose later,
I arrived back home.
Digger and I were banned from
the Northumberland PEI ferry
for pissing off the top deck.
I was grounded "from now until you die,"
but I knew the words to "Oh Canada,"
in both English and French
and could dance a jig
to "Rocky Road To Dublin."

"Great creeping Jesus,
what in the hell are you doing
feeding a pipe bomb to the boy?"