A Member Down In Walsh Street

A family of sparrows twitter in the soft chill, early day.
The leafy, brick walled street is silent.
Waiting. Quiet.
While the dawn is breaking. Grey.
A white car centred in the road to lure the quarry near.
Deathly quiet. Invites not dread nor fear.

Concealed, in dark, ranged about.'
Rat tailed assassins lie.
Muttering, Whispering obscenity. Cursing those about to die.
Thin and sickly, they snigger,
With their knowledge that the deed will anon,
Be quickly done.
To a proud and valiant breed.

The street now waits in silence.
Silent as the grave.
Dawn breaks. Grey as angels wings.
And ushers in the brave.

The cowards hearts are pounding.
Their mouths are dry and taut.
Sweaty palms to thin flanks pressed
To discourage waiver from the thought.

The van turns slowly into the street
Headlights pick out the car.
Standing. Inviting.
With the Driver's door ajar.

They stop the van, a little distance off.
Two blue victims then alight.
Victor Charlie Kilo soundtracks a message.
To the late departed night.
The blue boys then with athletic step,
Stride towards their doom.
One reaches the car, and peers inside
Outlined by the dawning's soft illume.

Suddenly, swift and sure.
Rattails break their cover
Shouting, laughing weapons raised.
The deed is quickly over.
All is done.
And quickly done.
The flurry soon subsides.
Bitter fumes waft on the morning breeze.
And calm again abides.

They left them, where they killed them
And mixed.
Like water does with wine.
Slunk away,
The night beasts,
Left the street to become a shrine.

"There's a member down. In Walsh Street"
Heartbreaking from the sight
Of the slaughter he saw before him.
Now harsh in the stark daylight.
The ominous turning lights alternate, now blue, now red.
The City looked on in numb struck grief
While the blue family claimed their dead.


Blossom draped they are borne aloft.
By those who knew and loved them.
Muffled drum, and wailing pipe.
And anthems sung above them.

There is a memory down in Walsh Street,
Brings hot and shameless tears.
The bitter thoughts of a cowards deed,
Will last a thousand years.
For the memory of the bravest men is writ in letters bright.
In a special place for those in blue.
Who are foresworn to uphold the right.

Copyright, Michael Grelis 1990.