IN 1969, that Ulster gutter preacher
Ian Paisley
himself
with his Yankee doctorate from Bob Jones U,
unsmiling,
with
his dirty money salted away,
with
his imperial law
and his gunmen in the shadows
called herself,
twenty one years old,
"Che Guevara in a mini skirt"
(Her tresses flying free on the Derry barricade) —
That right windbag of a bloodstained bastard —
where in hell is he now?
@poetry =
Bua no bas growled hard lads, lasses
in pubs, prisons, dole queues —
Big Ian's bombast unfunny to the likes of them —
Seven bullets in her and she still had a laugh to share
Ya like my peace process 'do?
she smiled
touching her coiffed grey hair
showing off a snapshot of her kids
You know the thing I can't forgive
is that these wee ones
didn't grow up in farm country
as we'd hoped
with all the war
and all the war
for
we had to raise them in here
on this hard black city ground
just to stay alive
just for them to live
she said dreaming of flowers, fields,
cattle, dogs and sheep and
a running Irish child by a free Irish river
I had longer hair back then.
Yes, I did,
she smiles,
but I'm worse now —
far,
far
worse
Bill Nevins, November 5, 2008