A COLD SON OF A BITCH
‘yet why not say what happened’
Robert Lowell
John looked from the
kitchen window, the sink he stood by was like the interior of a
Well-worn tea pot or
the inside of his lungs sucking on yet another cigarette.
He ejected the stale
teabags from the teapot he thought I must go to the doctors today
and get that
disability living allowance form filled in and get a mobility allowance
and have a new car
instead of that almost unrepairable rusted old banger. He remembered how
the car looked in the night’s
subtle pastel glow, and said god you’re a bastard you and
your cold light of
morning.
Opening a cupboard in
the hall he dragged a filthy pair of overalls from a pile of
clothes on the floor
and stepped into them tucked his hair into a tweed cap and lifted
the toolbox. The
morning was a little cool but the sun was coming up strong above
the grey housing
estate, ‘this is going to be a good day’, he thought sucking in the
almost fresh
air. Opening the passenger door of the car creaking like a great sigh
reaching in he delved
between unsecured seating, busted wings and an exhaust
hauling a jack from
the debris. He took the cross shaped wheel brace and placed it on
one of the four rusted
nuts before taking hold he stooped and spat on his hands gripped
the brace and turned
with all his might and tried to budge the nut as if it
was his last task on earth?
He cursed the car and gave it everything he had, all a sixty
year old worn heart
could muster. A heart like a prune without syrup dried and left in
the searing desert of
hurt too long,’ ya red bastard, ya German fucker, ya useless heap
of shit.
He mumbled as the
sweat broke on his brow. He rested a while leaning, took a cigarette
from his top pocket
lit and sucked, he licked the beads of sweat that fell across his lips
he ran his tongue
across his lips once more they were cold and grey he licked once
more unsure and tasted
death.
On the morning of his
funeral a letter drifted through the letter box, one of his pallbearer
four sons opened it
and it read, we are pleased to inform you that you have
been awarded motability.
THE
NOTEBOOK
Although
it was late morning the sun was still warm over the south side of
Dublin
draining yet another cold winter from the earth and from the hearts of the
poor.
One didn’t have to see the sun or feel the heat to know that summer had arrived
In
Rathmines, the stench of the Grand Canal lingered with the cities grime.
As
the church bells rang out little Maggie blessed herself and continued polishing
Mrs. Mahon’s side
board. Every Saturday she helped her
mother clean the houses of the rich to help boost her measly
widows pension from the Ministry of defense.
Her father died the previous year, cut down in his
prime just twenty- seven from tuberculosis, leaving a gaping wound in the
hearts of a devoted wife and
five children. Maggie worked alone this
day, her mother was away bringing a life into the world as he
was the unofficial midwife of the area.
The duster glided across the dark wood and she escaped into
her Hollywood dreams dancing and singing songs by Judy Garland with her friends
on the lochs of the
canal, the stench of the filthy river forgotten. She took a small worn notebook from the
pocket in her
drab tunic and flicked through the pages of scribbled signatures and stopped at
Judy Garland, a sense
of pride filled her cheeks recalling the crowds of screaming fans she battled
through for that
autograph. That little book held her treasures and was as important as
her prayer book and her legion
with Mary.
She
turned to the last page autographed by Rita Hayward, she remembered her
friends
not believing her when she showed them the book.
‘You
done that yourself’ they said sitting on a bench that ran along the canal, Pam
and
Mary squeezed in trying to make some sense of the scribbled line.
‘I
can’t make head nor tail of it’, said Pam, ‘if you gave our jimmy a
bleeding pen
you’d
make more sense of it’ said Mary how did you get it they asked together?
well
said Maggie’, ‘I was in Woolworth’s getting threads for my mother when
this
blond
lady with sunglasses came in the queue behind holding a little girls hand’.
‘Caught
ya, Na na na na na said Pam, Rita Hayward hasn’t got
blond
hair, ‘I know said Maggie but I remember Rinty the bell boy at the Gresham
hotel
had
told me she was visiting Dublin. ‘I read that in her next role she would
be blond,
so
there’. I waited at the front and when
she came out’ ‘I said’, ‘Miss Hayward could I have your
autograph’, ‘what makes you think I’m Miss Hayward, she said removing her
sunglasses
. I told her that I read about her next role as a blond and I knew she had a
little
girl. She said for knowing so much I
will sign and handed me an orange from her bag and asked
my name and shook my hand. The two girls
looked again at the scrawl of ink and knew it was Rita
Hayward’s and skipped off home along the path.
Finishing her chores she fell into the role of a movie
queen strolling the highly polished hall. As she neared the wide steep
staircase her hands raised like
a ballet dancer pirouetting in a beautiful gown in place of her drab tunic that
hung around her like
an apron of poverty. No longer a buck
toothed thirteen year old Dublin girl she was the queen of Hollywood. She strode the staircase with the strength of
Joan Crawford or Bette Davis as
she neared the last flight her step lightened and fell with a thud into reality
and
Mrs.
Mahon stood at the foot of the stairs.
She
looked forward to the one shilling wage and the home made cakes and tarts made
from
apples and pears picked from her garden and the goodness of her heart.
As
she reached the bottom step Mrs. Mahon said in her soft upper class polite tone
’would
you do me a favour Maggie’, the little girl nodded in response.
Go
to Dan Dooley’s and get an ounce of tea, half a sugar and quarter butter and
keep
the
change, and Mrs. Mahon handed her a shilling and she put in her pocket
with the
notebook. A small thin man she knew as Mrs. Mahon’s
brother in law stepped out of the darkened
room behind her. ‘I'm going your way’, he said,' I'll walk with you’.
Maggie
wanted to rush there and back and get her wage and get home quickly.
She
looked at the little man with greased back dark hair wearing a suit that
hung on
him
like a hospital gown. She looked into
his eyes and sensed a sadness and thought
it
would be alright to walk with him and the big door closed behind them.
As
they walked out he felt the heat of summer reacting to the searing heat in his
chest
distorting
his view, she smelt the strong scent of summer and said in a rush of
embarrassed
utterance, ‘ I take a short cut over two walls and across’ and before she
had
time to finish, It’s quicker this way’, he said and grabbed her
arm and held her
scream.
He hauled her fresh young body across the garden past the big window of the
lonely
house and down the side towards the back, while the flashes of red bricked
confusion
seared through her young mind. His greased back hair fell about his thin
face like a demon revealing
his horns, her eyes leered with tear filled muffled silence to the
rusting rooF of the shed. She
cleared those two walls as if they weren’t there, that evil man had torn her
soul
her
life and legion with Mary.
She
clambered towards the canal feeling a hurt worse than the grief of her dad, the
soiled
blood ran down her soft white legs. The next thing she never knew she was waist
deep in
the canal delving between her legs washing away the filth of the devil. The notebook and the money fell
from her pocket and washed away in the cities grime, her dreams of
innocence washed away with the
filthy river. The river bed of broken
glass and rotting metal took blood from her feet but she was numb
to feel it through here well-worn plim-soles. She ran through the great doors
of the chapel and settled
under one of the worn down pews and huddled into a ball doing penance on the
stone cold floor of
loss, the lonely lingering stench of stained immaculate conceptions
engulfed her.
‘
Come out of there child, I thought you were a flea bitten dog, what’s wrong
girl’,
said
the voice of the servant of god. Shivering she got of her hunkers and
looked at
him
in disbelief, why doesn’t he know what happened she said to herself.
A
gibberish flow about losing Mrs. Mahon’s money came flowing like the confusion
of
pollution in her mind,‘go home to your mother’, said the priest, ‘God bless you
girl’
said
the servant of god.
Mrs
Mahon’s brother in law died of cancer some months later and Maggie knelt in the
chapel
praying as the priest looked on.
THE FIFTY PENCE PIECE
Mickey Reilly sat on his single bed looking out onto the busy road. The dark nights were slowly creeping in as the lights of the traffic flickered through the rain splattered window creeping out of the city. His record player and amp lit up the tiny bed-sit beside his record collection of music. The raw bass and distorted guitar of Gang of Fours to hell with poverty, ‘well get drunk on cheap wine’, he sang along as if the line came straight of his head, the record collection was his life. He was rein acting a scene. He was walking through St Anne's park smoking a cigarette as he passed the band stand where the local bands played a free summer festival, A Lark in the Park. He fixed the length of blue nylon rope burnt at both ends to stop it fraying around his neck and tucked the ends into his bomber jacket and zipped it up to his neck. It was a crisp winters night the stars glowing clearly above him. As he walked through the arches of the rose gardens he saw a puff of smoke rising from the dark figure seated at the bench. The man turned to look up at Mickey now in line, the white strip around his neck shone like the stars. "What about ya, father he said, lovely night', 'yeah it is son, been sitting here watching the stars and listening to the sea out there beyond the darkness'. 'Come and sit down here son and listen', he patted the seat beside him. He sat beside the dark figure his arm across the back of the bench, his right foot rested on his left knee he shifted closer to the dark figure. "Can I have one of your smokes Father', he said, 'have you no smokes son', said the priest, "no Father, I've got fifty pence to my name father'. Taking it out his pocket flicking into the air to let it drop in his palm. "I could tell you a story about a fifty pence piece just like this one father'. "I'm sure you could son', said the priest handing him a cigarette. The priest lit his lighter and reached over to light Michaels cigarette. The lighter lit up the darkness between them, he looked deeply into the priest’s eyes, pulled back on his right arm on the back of the bench and let it go to collide like a hammer with the side of the priest’s head. He opened his jacket and pulled out the rope found its center and dragged it through the priest’s teeth from behind like a bit in a horse’s mouth. Crossed the end of the rope lacing it across his back and round to bind the priest’s hands and place him back on the bench. The priest began to come to he sat on the bench beside him his arm wrapped tightly around him. Now father he said I want you to shut the fuck up so I can tell you a story about a fifty pence piece just like this one, flicking it through the air to land in his palm.
He took the
blank "Black n' Red" book from the shelf above his bed between a small
selection of books and CD's and a book of Charles Baudelaire's poems fell on
the bed. As he lifted it to put it back on the shelf his eye caught something
on the page and he began to read out loud.
To the Reader; Stupidity,
delusion, selfishness and lust torment our bodies and possess our minds.
He discarded
the book and opened the Red n" Black A4 notebook. He flicked it open to
the first blank page, signed his name and the date November 2002. He looked at
the page littered with lines until the lines began to merge into an image.
He lifted the
pen and began to write. The rain beat off the window outside like the rhythm of
the pen, the ink catching a tiny glimmer of light moving across the page before
it dried into reality. He was twelve in
1972, it was a Sunday one of the gang said let’s rob the egg factory. He couldn't remember if it was Hardbap or
Haggis who suggested it but they sprang into action and got together a couple
of giders and old prams and headed off to rob the egg factory. They broke in
through a back window but had no way out through the smashed window with the
boxes of eggs. With all the eggs they couldn’t take they had a riot in the
massive factory space. Mickey unleashed the fork lift from its power point
being charged and crashed it into every wall before getting the forks wedged
under the steel door and prized the roller door up to let them out and stack
the boxes of eggs onto the giders and prams. They headed off across the fields
through the gypsy camp where they gave out a few dozen of the eggs to the
women who sat around outside one of the caravans talking, some of the kids ran
after them, the boys calling out, 'give us some of your eggs' until the women
called them back saying leave them good boys alone. They took the boxes off the
transport and carried them up the steep hill then piled them back on top and
wheeled them across the all-weather pitch through the kid’s playground and past
the army sandbag post.
The two young
soldiers taunted them shouting out through the gap in the sandbags 'Oi mate
where did you steal them eggs'. Razor walked
up to them and looked up into the gap and said that's 'none of your fucking
business, you British bastards', dragged a greenhorn up from his gut and spat
at them. They waited for a gap in the
traffic and dashed the cargo across the main road that was the divide between
the Catholic's and the Protestants. They feared being approached by a rival
gang, they would have a punch up or a mini riot with them and maybe they would
end up with the eggs but that was nothing compared to what would have happened
had they sold the eggs to their own community, they would have had the Ra to
deal with. They split up on the other
side off the road and began knocking on the doors of the houses of the three streets
that ran off the main road careful not to go too deep into the Protestant area.
Within no time the eggs had disappeared and the money was in their sky rockets.
Only one suspicious lady asked where they came from. Mickey said his Da was in
a van selling them in the next street. Before crossing the main road, they
piled into the shop on the Protestant side of the road and each bought 20
smokes, lemonade crisps and chocolate bars. They passed the army post again
where one of the soldiers said give us a couple of fag’s mate. Hardbap removed
two smokes from his box held them in his hand shoved them down the front of his
trousers rubbed the fags around his balls before taking them out and throwing
them through the gap in the sandbags calling out British bastards running
across the pitch laughing. They sat in a burnt out car in a back alley smoking,
eating, drinking and laughing before heading home for tea. Mickey hung his coat
on the rail just inside the front door. After tea his Ma said she was going out
to see Aunt Anne who lived up the street. As she lifted his Harrington jacket
off the rail to get her coat below it, she felt it was heavy, she shook it and
heard the money rattling. She took the coat in to where mickey and his sister
were finishing their tea. She spilt the contents of his pockets out on the
table the money cigarettes and chocolate bars scattered everywhere, 'where did
you get this', she asked and grabbed him by the scruff of the neck dragging him
into the living room she sat him down on the chair. Now look up at that picture
and tell me where you got the money. He looked up at the sacred heart picture
and said we found crates of lemonade bottles and brought them back to the shop
and we got some copper and lead from the burnt buses and sold it to the gypos. You’re a liar she said you wouldn’t get that
much money from a few bottles and a bit of scrap. The doorbell rang and she answered the door
it was Hardbap were you with Michael today she asked the boy yes he said come
in here then she sat him down on the sofa and said look up at that picture and
tell me where you got the money today. Then Haggis, Razor, GG and Cash called
and they all sat there in the living room looking up at the picture of Jesus on
the wall in silence. Eventually Michael couldn’t stand the silence and embarrassment
and admitted that they robbed the egg factory. She told the boys to leave
telling them that each of their parents would be told. She told him to go to
his room as he climbed the stairs she said I'm putting that money in an
envelope and your bringing it up to the priest tomorrow after school.
The old lady
ushered him through the front door of the Parochial house asking his name and
telling him to sit on the bench like a small pew and wait for the priest. He
was physically shaking with nerves and felt sick to his stomach as the minutes
ticked by on the big clock in the hall. The priest eventually came through
dressed in his ceremonial robes. Michael Reilly he said and he mumbled 'yes, 'I
was talking to your mother today come in here he said and he followed him into
a library with a desk in the middle of the room surrounded by shelves of books
along each wall.
Do you have
the envelope with you, he took it out of his pocket and handed it to him as he
sat down behind the desk? 'You know you done wrong boy don't you', 'yes father’,
‘you won’t do anything like this again will you son', 'no father' he said.
'Bringing shame on the good name of your family', 'no father, I'll never do
wrong again father’, almost beginning to cry. 'OK I believe you son,' said the priest,
‘but one thing I don't understand, why did you sell the eggs to the
Protestants'. 'I'm going to send this envelope of money back to the egg factory
I won’t say it was you if you swear you won’t do this again', 'I swear father I
swear'. 'OK', said the priest,' come here boy' pointing to the floor beside his
chair. He reached over and held his arm and looked up at him, 'now you know
because you have done a wrong deed and brought shame to your poor mother you have
to do penance to pray for forgiveness', 'yes father I know'. 'OK when you leave here I want you to go to
the chapel and say six hail Mary's and three our fathers and ask god for his
forgiveness', 'yes father I promise letting out a sigh of relief and moving to
turn.
'Not so quick boy,' said the priest gripping his arm even harder. He pulled back his chair and ordered Michael to stand in front of the desk he stood there in front of the desk trembling. "Now look boy', said the priest from behind him he turned his head to see the priest fumbling under his robes and pull his hand out with a fifty pence piece. He held it up for him to see 'I'm going to put this in your pocket OK', and he let it drop into the front pocket of his trousers. 'Now if you tell anyone what happened here I'll tell your mother that you’re a liar and a thief and that you should be put in a home, OK boy', 'OK father', 'now open your trousers and pull them down'. He done what he was told thinking he was going to be slapped across the arse with a cane but he jumped back startled like someone had walked over his grave at the touch of the priest reaching between his legs to take hold of his cock and start pulling on it. He put his strong hand on his back and bent him over the bench while still pulling at his cock he heard his zip opening beneath the robes, 'don't scream boy', he said and forced his hard cock into him. He lay there across the bench biting through the skin of his thumb, his teeth clenched and his top lip trembling as if to start crying but he didn't, he bit harder on his thumb thinking I'm going to kill that dirty bastard. He could feel the stuff that oozed out of him growing cold between his tummy and the bench as the priest hammered into him moaning like an old pig. His stomach doing somersaults as the priest came inside him. He wiped the cum from his arse with his robe and told Michael to get dressed. He wiped the cum on the bench with his robe and told Michael to leave. He got to the door and the priest said don't forget son one word and you'll be spending Christmas in a home. Michael never turned back he threw the 50 pence piece into the air and heard it smack of the roof of the parochial house and slide down the slates and into its gutter. He ran all the way home crying inside; I'm going to kill that dirty bastard someday.
His father was
released from prison he had been interned in Crumlin Rd Jail and Long Kesh.
Michael went to see his friend GG to tell him that they were leaving Belfast
and moving to Dundalk. They sat in the dining room laughing about the strange
machine in the corner of the room that was used when GG's brother died, he died
all the time and this machine brought him back to life, it was like something
out of the movies an iron lung.
It was dark
when he was on the way home, the only lights were that through the curtains of
the houses all the streetlights were shot out to let the IRA move freely
through the district and for the safety of the people from sniper or British
army fire. The sky was red and flakes of black ash were falling like snow as
houses and property burned all over Belfast. As he turned left by instinct onto
his street a Blatter of bullets came hurtling towards him from a machine gun at
the top of the street. They tore through the night cutting the hedges and
fences and bouncing off the ground in front of him, he froze to the spot panic
stricken. He could see the flashes of the rifle but couldn't move.
A hand came
from behind the hedges and grabbed him by the scruff of the neck and dragged him
off the street into the garden he could feel the piss steaming hot in his jeans
become cold as he lay there on the cold grass. He looked up to see the man, he
buried his head in his hand and his mind switched off.
The man took
him by the scruff of the neck and the arse of his trousers and threw him clear
of the hedges and the fence and he landed in the next garden. The big man with
red hair and hands like shovels did this over 12 gardens while dodging the Blatter
of bullets from the machine gun at the top of the road. At that time all the
doors in the district were left off the latch so the gun men could run though
the house and out the back to make their escape. The big man shoved Michael
through the front door where he landed flat on the bottom of the stairs, he
looked back as the door began to close again with the impact with the wall he
saw the big man running across the road and saw the impact of the bullet
connect with his head and the blood spurting out. Like the last action shot in
a movie before the door closed the view like the curtains in the cinema. He
climbed the stairs and cried himself to sleep. The next day the house was
emptied into a removals van, there wasn't enough room for him in the front of
the removals van so Michael travelled in the white transit van with the soft
spoken boyfriend of his eldest sister. Michael didn't have much to say as they
travelled along the motor way, Paul O Connor was rattling on about a new start
new home etc. with his girlie voice that was beginning to annoy Michael who was
trying not to think about what happened the day before but his arse was still
sore and every bump in the road reminded him. Michael began to drift off to
sleep when he felt something he looked down to see Paul’s hand on his leg
slowly moving towards his crotch talking about pulling off and buying him a
nice meal and ice cream. Michael jumped back when he realized what was going
on, get your fucking hand off me he said to Paul. It’s OK Michael he said you
might like it, Michael reached for the door handle and pulled it open held the
door ajar and said if you don't stop I'll jump. He climbed into the back and
sat on the floor against a tea-chest it was worse on his arse but at least he
was away from that dirty bastard. How could he do that if he was going with his
sister he thought. Is there something wrong with me, he thought? He liked girls so he couldn't understand what
was happening. They slept on mattresses on the living room floor of the new
house that night. Michael woke with his little brother Jimmy hanging around his
neck still fast asleep. His brother and sister’s mattresses were empty but he
looked across the room and saw Paul sitting up smoking. Paul said good morning
Mickey, fuck off said Michael, do you want a smoke said Paul and held up the
cigarette waving it. Throw it over said Michael. I'll give you three if you let
me touch your wee brother. Michael seen
red jumped out of bed ran across the room and kicked him up the face saying you
touch my brother and I'll kill you and he left the room carrying his wee
brother beginning to wake.
He made new
friends and the bitterness fueled by the fear and hatred in Belfast began to
leave him as he realized that not everyone was at war. He had been out all day
with his new friends progging orchards and taking the girls up to Chuhullians
castle for a kiss and a grope of tits that didn't yet exist on most of the
girls except Lilly who had enormous tits and beautiful erect dark brown nipples
she loved to have sucked so they all took turns with her. There was a party and
sing song going on when he returned home all the adults and friends were
drinking to celebrate his sister’s birthday and the house warming. Michael said
goodnight and went off to bed with his little brother. He climbed into the top
bunk and began to drift off as soon as his head hit the pillow. He was lost in
his dream world and it was as if he was dreaming about Lilly touching his cock.
His member began to rise but something just wasn't right it began to feel like
it was real and not a dream. As he began to wake he heard his Mother entering
the room shouting you dirty filthy bastard and there beside him was Paul with
his hand under the bedclothes. She whacked him one right up the coupon and
began dragging him out of the room. His father came running up the stairs
shouting what's going on. This filthy bastard was up here touching wee Michael
when he was sleeping and you wanted this soft talking pervert to marry my
daughter get the fucking animal out of here before I kill him.
It was a cold November morning, he woke early switched on the portable TV
that only picked up 2 god damn stations RTE 1 and 2. He watched the morning news and heard a
priest talking about how they should change the law from Canon law to Civil
law. "At the end of the day were all civilians who must adhere to the law.
Hang the Bastards he thought. On his way into town on the Dart train Canon Law
and Civil Law itched around in his brain. He joined the queue outside the Dole
office and drifted in with the stench of foul beer and smoke and the stink of
some of the dirt birds in the queue to collect his weekly pittance
assistance. He passed two chapels and
five pubs on the way to catch the bus back home. He wanted to stop for a pint
but he knew the consequences of that as many a time he went home broke so he
went to Macs got some groceries and 3 litres of the cheapest red wine and
headed home. He filled himself a glass of wine put a couple of strips of bacon
under the grill put the needle on the record and the voice sounded sampled
through a tanoi, there’s seventy billion people on earth, where are they
hiding. As he was listening he remembered what his brother said to him:
"Don't be putting that depressing music on again Michael, do you not
listen to any happy music" The best songs in the world have been written
through melancholy, he answered. What the fuck would he know about music he thought he had disco songs, the music screeched like finger nails on a blackboard.
The image of his dead sister entered his brain and left like a
hologram. He drifted off back into nineteen seventy-five as Lou Reed hammered
out "waiting for the man". It was a Saturday he was at the markets in
Dundalk selling toys and Novelty goods from a wallpaper table. It was cold
drizzling on and off so the punters weren't out in force they both sat on milk
crates behind the table filled with the goods, him and the stall owner. The man
reached across and put his hand on Michael's knee below the table. 'I'll take
you to a nice hotel in Dublin, we can stay there for the weekend, I'll take you
to the pictures and I'll treat you", he said as his hand moved further up
his leg, OK said Michael. "I'm going to go for lunch' he said with a
rotten smile on his face lifting the milk crate and reaching into the shoe box
with the days taking. He took out some notes put the lid back on and put the
milk crate back over it sit there he said and guard that money with your life
we'll need it for Dublin and I know exactly how much is in it. When he
disappeared around the corner Michael rose from behind the table yelling
"Everything must go" get your bargains here he shouted like a
professional trader. People began to gather around the stall and he sold the
lot in no time everything went for next to nothing anything the people wanted
to pay he took. He dandered off home with a shoe box under one arm and a folded
up wallpaper table in the other. The
images began to fall thick and fast through his mind and the pen was scribbling
unreadable words down as if he'd found the fast forward button in his brain and
he pressed it twice. Father Mc Duff was getting a dig up the head in a store
room in school. A man in a fruit factory had his hand stapled to a crate
screaming. The image of a man with a butcher’s
apron fucking a dead pig.
Having a piss behind a tree at night a hand reached out to grab him, he
ran the man through the streets and into a primary school grounds where the man
stopped in the shelter. Blood was splattered all over the grey concrete and the
red brick walls, ripping one of the 3x2s the kids sat on wet days, beating and
beating and beating the man to a pulp. He dropped the pen and reached under the
bed and took out a length of blue nylon rope stood on the chair and tied it
onto the heavy duty hook he had placed in the ceiling fixed to the rafter. He
tied the noose around his neck and spun around 360 degrees like a ballerina on
tip-toes looking down on his world and kicked the chair away. The last thing he
heard was the record stuck in a groove.
Before his sight went from red too scarlet then black was the priest
swinging in the park hanging by a length of blue nylon rope from the rose
garden arches. His trousers and underwear around his ankles, the stem of a rose
bush sticking out of his innards dripping with blood catching the light of the
moon flowing over a fifty pence piece on the grass.
