It’s nice to claim our identity
as south-European Renaissance yokels—
kind of sassy and uppity.
Folks’ll say it’s just our insanity,
but the joke’s on
them, because we’ll claim the identity
of one or all of the three dead
Kennedys,
whose ancestors ploughed the rocks of
Bawn, then got sassy and uppity
and came to the USA—
and Joe put up a hotel. Their kids are broke
now, but they still claim their Kennedy identity.
Our only claim
to fame is, we never left the farm—loyal
villeins that we were and are—but still too uppity
to work on the same estate for
more than a century.
We rise in the morning and soak
our feet in cider, love—flaunting our identity—
never not sassy and uppity!
