The poems were in my Aunt Evelyn's safekeeping. I feel a bit slighted - that Uncle Tom didn't share his talent with us when he was alive. I would've loved the chance to tell him how good of a poet he was. It's obvious his intent was to publish his poetry - in his notes, "The Thoughts of a Man" as a book title was brought up several times. He made inquiries to various publishers; to no avail.
![](https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhr_skTh8FDrYiYogLRtIZlp7-y0X2SkjiGSwXTo-FAeDeMIg2xlt_74JFnDW97YRUs8r5M6icCwNTOb8O6FdsyhCiqDra3NfIqzTBti1ZFwYREgXt5_HngScoZeHibhHaVv9_-TC9IFyg/s280/Tom+Ircink+cover3.jpg)
Incidentally, I realize the appeal of poetry to some can be - well, it can be ethereal. Subjective, airy, pie in the sky, head in the clouds stuff, rhyming bullshit. So I chose one of Uncle Tom's poems to share, one I'm sure most can relate to:
"A Little Drunk"
I came home, I think a little drunk that day.
I was a little drunk 'cause I didn't have enough money
to get drunk all the way.
But I was feeling rather good, a little numb,
also gitty and a little dumb.
I could hardly walk, it happens don't you see,
I couldn't find the house much less the key.
I couldn't find the house much less the key.
I knew somehow that this must be the place.
I remember the light in the window, and also falling on my face.
I got up and didn't feel a thing, except that at that point
I started to sing.
'Carry Me Back', I guess was the song.
I don't think it lasted long.
It was a goofy way to end the day, and the next time I get drunk,
I'm going to get drunk all the way.
Copyright © Thomas Ircink, 1971
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