top of page

Joe Bishop

[NOTE: Our website is designed for desktop viewing. This poem's format may be affected when viewed on a mobile device.]

Patrick Street on St. Paddy’s Day

My heartfelt player, rock star in recovery,

chain-vaping comrade, mainstream loner,

’neath the mink sheen of young locks you let grow,

though I’ve grown sick of your wisecracks, Mike,

I’d still like to swill whiskey with you at your

magnetic muss of a bedsitter on Patrick Street,

where I could feel close as you finger your

old acoustic with the string missing,

where I could demonstrate my amusement

at your falsetto, riff a flippant face,

where I could confess my legend till you bleed,

where you could pull-off an accentuating dress

instead of those constricting red slacks, Mike.

Tell me how you kink, how you’ve harmed,

how many panties dropped, how much mush,

expound on the hell of your righteous shame,

where we could dirty sheets in your dryer, Mike,

where it’s us, not the rest of the pagan galaxy

or those moist sardines packed at Greensleeves,

where it’s only us and the cairn of our sighs.


Joe Bishop's work has appeared in numerous journals. In 2016, he received a Newfoundland & Labrador Arts & Letters award for poetry. His chapbook, Dissociative Songs, was published in 2021 (Frog Hollow Press). His first full-length collection of poems, titled Indie Rock, is slated for publication (University of Alberta Press) in early 2023. Joe lives in Newfoundland.

Recent Posts

See All

Miles Cayman

Ø I think your name is less like itself is more like your middle name and most like the way you've held your pencil ever since you practiced cursive, and the ridge of callus precisely on your finger t

Javeria Hasnain

I ONLY CAME TO SEE GOD on the altar. When all the guests had left, & the smell of tuna had wafted far off into the ocean from where it came. No one truly knows. I waited for you, even though I knew yo

Clay Matthews

The First Law of Robotics What kind of malfunction brought you, little daffodil, with the afterbirth of an early February frost; what maker of clocks, what loosed screw; what turned and left the heart


bottom of page