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After Reading a Newspaper Report - February 8th, 1973 (i)
I can only stare in disbelief
At the mist shrouded entourage
Threading its way through the streets,
Smelling of rancid decay and death.
Technology may have brought us into the 1970s
But it left peace and reason in the dark ages.
(ii)
It was noon and two soldiers
Were silhouetted in the winter sun.
They cast giant shadows
Down a quiet street making
An eerie and unreal scene
Which was repeated like a nightmare at every corner turned.
(iii)
The city remained hidden,
Frightened that one walk would be their last.
A simple step across the threshhold
Could represent nothing but a passport to eternity.
Every shop and office remains silent
And shuttered.
They are encased in wood like the three bodies
About to turn the corner.
(iv)
The country has followed the call
For a one day token strike.
Some protestants have been detained,
Three men with hair but no brains
Three politically infested fools
Spitting hatred under the banner of religion.
(v)
Even through the temporary peace,
Death has dealt another blow
A mere coffin's length away.
How many more trees must be wasted
To make senseless epitaphs to the dead?
(vi)
The corner shop is barred and shut.
Last week it was alive with
Children's singing
But the son of the owners was shot
And his twisted, idealistic body
Now lies eight foot below the ground.
(vii)
As the Falls Road was burying its dead
Three shots shattered the silence
And three of the mourners fell,
Seriously wounded.
The mourners will soon be the mourned.
Belfast's morning of silence was over.
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