I put on my balaclava

And blundered into a riot.

Screaming saracens and bursts of smoke,

Disembodied cheers and shouts.

A wee fella ran past me

And hurled a green toffee paper at the troops.

"I died for Ireland and a penny dainty."

The thud of heavy boots in an echoing entry.

A trail of blood.

"Ambulance! Doctor! ...."

"Tell his wife they've taken him away!"

Yelled a parka jacket.

Around the corner, the chapel bell chimed

For devotions.

"No Telegraphs left, young Morrisey,

No Victory V either.

Here's a packet of Tunes

To help him breathe more easily."

He winked.