by Ciara, Ayeisha and Leisha (Mullahoran N.S.)
The shoes were broken
and hard to fix,
Full of tears and holes and rips,
Patrick Briody hammers tack,
You can hear the leather crack,
Lots of chatter from within,
Conversation through the din.
The smell of varnish
was sharp and clear .
The smell of sweat,
throughout the air.
A chorus of sounds of work and chat,
when he hears the rap.
A policeman calls,
boots in his hand.
“I need them soon you understand?”
In a matter of days,
throughout Mullahoran the whispers began,
the rumours were stirring.
An IRA court votes six to four,
and for the last time,
Patrick walks in through his door
He awoke at 1.20 am,
with a ringing in his head.
The unmasked men took him out of his bed.
Put in an ass and cart by neighbours,
as the rosary may have been said.
The scapular, which he was wearing,
was shot into his body.
But behind the blood the inscription read
‘ Whosoever dies wearing this scapular,
shall not suffer eternal fire’
God rest you Patrick Briody.
Written by Ciara, Ayeisha and Leisha as part of Poetry as Commemoration workshops for 6th Class, Mullahoran NS, Co. Cavan, led by Frank Galligan in May/ June 2022.