by Lucy, Amber & Charlie (Mullahoran N.S.)
As Patrick Briody works away in
his shop on that fatal day
the sun fades and the dust collects.
The mice eat away at the faded leather.
As the clock strikes twelve he starts to sweep
the big massive heap that was left from yesterday.
Hearing the gossip all through his shop,
Patrick pretended he didn’t know a lot
Watching all the policemen big and small,
who come and go, getting their shoes repaired.
Some may be nice, some may be scary;
you will never know!
Pat would tip and tap at all the shoes,
waiting for the next person to arrive
bringing lots of news and a pair of torn aware shoes.
Every policeman came for a while ,
then left the shop with a big smile.
Briody worked all day and into the night,
not knowing what disaster would happen
early the next morn.
He closed the shop having all his jobs done,
heading home to have his last whiskey and rum.
As the fire shone he entered his bed with a happy head.
At 1.20am he was took out of his bed,
said goodbye to his wife and was soon found dead.
As he left his home he asked about clothes.
They told him ‘no’ so he tied his boots loosely.
Poor Patrick was shot a total of seventeen times,
one through his scapular as it read
‘ whosoever dies wearing this scapular shall not suffer eternal fire’
Patrick never walked through his shop door no more.
Written by Lucy, Amber & Charlie as part of Poetry as Commemoration workshops for 6th Class, Mullahoran NS, Co. Cavan, led by Frank Galligan in May/ June 2022.