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Thursday, 18 August 2011


There used to be a cinema here,
a shop over there, a grand hotel,
ebb-and-flow people with normal lives,
a town's buzz, businesses doing well

until a droning in the night sky.
Bomber planes flying over Belfast,
left piles of rubble and burnt dust,
shocked people, whitened faces aghast.

I looked for you across the dying town.
I searched the brick heaps but you weren't there.
I found our street corner, now a space,
cried your name in vain across the blitzed square.

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