One Friday In Late July……..

A short poem from someone who was an eye witness to those terrible events of forty years ago…..

One Friday in Late July…..

A schoolboy running errands—a milkman doing his round
A bustling city hard at work—just like other Irish towns
Kids at play, on a summer day, beneath a faultless azure sky
At the end of play on that fateful day, the question asked was—Why?

Just weeks before, Hawks slammed the door, unprepared to take a chance
To end the bitter cycle, Now this was their response
In pretence they led us to believe their guns would cease to fire
But, their devious deed, sowed rotten seeds, plunged us deeper in the mire.

One hour if madness—22 blasts–had a devastating effect
No warning bombs, went on and on, and left the city wrecked
The dead lay scattered all around, the wounded screamed in pain
With this cowardly act—of little tact—what could they hope to gain?

Bus boys—a Mother—a clerics son—ripped apart and maimed
They denied at first and to make things worse tried to shift the blame
While jeering crowds in hatred loud did mock the fallen prey
Did they feel proud—heads unbowed—on that sunny July day?

Four decades on—unification gone—lost—a distant dream
Can those who gave the orders sleep and fail to hear the screams?
Is their conscience clear—or say without fear—they gained what they had sought
The memory of their victims say—We died in the name of What?