to the girl on her back

here's a little shout out to the cats at home because i've been west of the west for a while now in every country i go to. what is it that makes the south of a place the ' and the west of a place lost and found and the north the scorekeeper. i just got off the island yesterday. legged it out of connemara, scooted through athlone, a microcosm of jersey's bad (and unwarranted) reputation--when i say microcosm i mean that because the only thing you see is a truck-stop with three dishes on the menu, all variations on ham and cheese. ran out of gas somewhere in the middle, when all of the stations were closed with power outages from the remnants of another hurricane. betrayed my principles and displayed my origins while shopping for something to grant me admission into the horse race in paris that i cant pronounce the name of. an uncanny dramatization of pretty woman. especially when they saw my legs pock-marked with midge bites and old scars from wars lost before against the bloodsuckers peekin. they didnt want me trying on their duds for fear of catching my bad luck.