The Bomb Makers

by Gerald Arthur Moore


This morning there are scars on the road.
Dark circular petrol bomb bruises
ringed with blue and yellow, like punches.
Exploding pipes, jacks and rusty nails.
“Nobody died today from Belfast confetti”-
words disappear like incense into the din:
“It was just ladies purses at twenty paces.”
But there are fragmentation marks on stones
and bones in Milltown Cemetery.

Advertisements

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s