The bells rung out in the
night.
A mist hung over the ghastly
sight.
A man limped in the alley
light,
Coughing as he fell to his
right.
O'Rourke and the lads stood
grimaced,
Overcoats coated the hearts
on their sleeves.
They pressed for answers Monty hadn't the slimmest,
For the pack of vigilant
thieves.
They pulled Monty up and
punched him loose,
Those memories and years of
useless abuse,
He wished he could take
back.
He gulped but wouldn't
crack,
Hoped he could see them
again.
Then told himself it wasn't
in vain.
There was his wife - Sinead
McCann,
The lovely lass he met in
the rain,
At a bus stop one night by
the Quays.
Brushed her hair and kissed
in the breeze,
Too many more frightful
moons ago.
A love so foolish to hold
loose and let go.
His son Liam was
ten-years-old,
Took the brunt and left in
the cold,
After nights of drinks and
fury.
His daughter Aisling wiped
her eyes,
Fifteen-years-old and often
chastised.
How Monty wronged them so,
He realised after another
blow.
He fell to his knees and
spat out a tooth.
Blood ran down his chin and
onto his shirt.
He looked up at his old
mate, Johnny,
Recalling the fun bloom of
youth.
He could tell on his face it
hurt,
Johnny fought to keep dry
eyes.
O'Rourke aggressively lifted
him,
“No more of these lies,
Monty.”
I won't give up 'til I have
the truth.”
“I don't know what you
mean,
I don't know a fucking
thing.”
Monty was honest but knew,
The fate O'Rourke's eyes
drew.
Green and weathered all
through,
Left Monty feeling awfully
blue.
They took him out into the
crisp woods,
Threw him down into the
slippery dirt.
Small wind let trees sit
still and lifeless,
Timeless eyes idle and
baring witness.
Monty looked up at
O'Rourke's haunting figure,
A stoic silhouette formed
out of headlights.
The lads stood behind him in
the shadows.
“This is your last
chance,”
O'Rourke reached into his
trenchcoat,
The silver caught Monty's
bloodshot glance.
“Did you help the man who
slit the gaffer's throat?
Who stole from the
unfortunate of little wealth?
What do you have to say of
yourself?”
“I did nothing at all,”
Monty begged but didn't
ball.
He didn't have the strength
to stand,
But refused to die a
cowardly man.
“Just tell my family I
love them.”
O'Rourke lifted the gun and
stepped forward,
A solemn scene of tragedy
Monty saw before.
He was battered, bloodied,
left in ruins,
Kicked in the ribs and shot
in the head.
Dropping to his knees was
Johnny McGuinn.
A man should never see a
friend shot dead.
O'Rourke struggled with a
single tear,
Wiped it off and turned
around aware.
Men had shovels and
flashlights in hand.
They held their head up and
kept quiet,
Stepped silently and to dig
they began.
They left dear old Monty in
that dirt pit,
Then carried on without a
heart's content.
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