Back in the pioneering days I drifted, starstruck,
To the isle of Joyce and Van the Man,
And fell among salesmen.
Portal to the picaresque -
Bagman for a swivelling boss backlit with trophies,
Above a pub in smoky Dublin.
Chaotic dreamers -
Commission-only desperadoes on the run from ordinary -
Late-night laughers trying to memorise a script.
Today my fellow veterans
Look back from Intercon or Plaza to pin-point glory -
The day the drill of language sprang the cash-box of the world.
