I stood in line.
The queue was long.
Spiral stairway to climb.
Narrow and steep; up and up.
At a snail’s pace we moved.
The stone walls damp and cold.
The wind zipping through cracks.
We reached the turret; even colder.
A drizzle had started; I was cold.
About 20 more before my turn.
I was watching how it was done.
It look scary; yet I was excited.
My turn came to lie on my back.
Each hand gripping the bar tightly.
The guide held me by my jacket.
While I dangled my head backwards.
Lips reaching out, my prize in reach.
What I was going to do didn’t make sense.
But if the gift of the gab was my prize…
Laughing, I kissed the Blarney Stone.
By C.E. Pereira