Duffer:  Two pints Eamon and two packages ‘a Manahattan nuts.

 Wha?

 Ah good one Eamon

Beanzie:  What’s a good one?

 What did he say?

Duffer:  He said we’ll have to call them Cock and Bull nuts now, ye know the way the Manhattan is now the Cock and Bull…..

Beanzie:   Jaysus there’s a small enough audience for that joke given that the Manhattan was the Station House for the last thirty years but I am with him on the sentiment, I’ll never accept the name Cock and Bull

Duffer:   Who are you the Comedy Police?  Eamon knew his audience. He wasn’t goin to say that to some young fella who’d look at him like he had two heads

Beanzie:  Ye see that’s the thing with you, ye just don’t understand comedy. If somethin’ is funny, it’s funny. In fact you’re a complete Philistine about the Arts. I can never talk to you about theatre or literature or poetry.

Duffer:  Poetry?  Poetry?  

The only conversation we ever had about poetry was when you told me about runnin’ inta  Patrick Kavanagh in McDaids and you givin’ him the directions to the Regina Cheoli hostel ‘cause ye thought he was a tramp and him tellin’ ye to go fuck yerself.  

Yer comments on Poetry on that occasion weren’t far off the drunken ramblin’s of a Monaghan farmer.

Beanzie:  I don’t remember that whatsoever but to paraphrase the great man “ye get a reputation for somethin’ and it sticks with ye for life”.

Duffer:  Wasn’t that Brendan Behan …… “get a reputation for bein’  early and ye can stay in bed all day”.

Beanzie:  It was Kavanagh and seein’ as you’re tryin’ to drag it outa me, yes I am doin’ a poetry class ‘cause for some of us there’s more to life then pints and football.  

It wouldn’t kill you to get a bit a culture inta your own life……

Duffer:  I beg your pardon.

Meself and Mary have seen Mrs Brown the stage show three times.

Beanzie:  Philistine! 

Duffer:  Okay Seamus Heaney give us an aul poem then.

Beanzie:  Well poets don’t normally do requests. That would be considered  a little crass but I just happen to have a piece I wrote here in me pocket an’ seein’ as ye won’t stop goin’ on about it I’ll read it to ye……..

Duffer:  What’s it about?

Beanzie:  The Spire.

Duffer:  The Spire?

Beanzie:  The Spire …….. in O’Connell Street.  

It’s called “What’s the point of the Spire?”

Duffer:  Ha ha, I see what ye did there…….A bit a hush lads, Beanzie’s goin’ to read out his poem…

Beanzie:  Ah for Jaysus sake you’ll be sendin’ the hat ‘round next…….

                   (cough, cough)

Whats the point of the Spire?   by Beanzie Flynn

What’s the point of the Spire?
It’s just hollow metal and tawdry tin
Rising up to a Dublin sky
Confusin’ the tourist and the passer by
Pointless and pointy as it rises higher
It’s just what it is the Dublin Spire

What’s the point of the Spire?
Conceived by committee amongst vacuous din
A blight on our main Street
An eyesore at our feet
Dublin should sell it if we could just get a buyer
But what fool could we get for our pointless Spire

What’s the point of the Spire?
No soul on the outside and nothing within
The tourist will pass it
The local will shun it
A monument to nothing of which we all tire
The tooth pick of greed is the great Dublin Spire

What’s the point of the Spire?
Is it needle or cone or shiny new pin?
Everything should be something
Or everything is nothing
A great opportunity for a big funeral pyre
Let’s bury the bones of the great Dublin Spire

Duffer:  Jaysus Beanzie, I didn’t know ye had it in ye.

Beanzie:  Paddy Kavanagh, eat your heart out wha.