Copyright © Gerard Smyth; All rights reserved.
And did you make the journey
to see the view from St Augustine Street,
where the factory horn went silent long ago?
Did you arrive somewhere between
a treasure trove of the city’s corner stones
and junkyard debris from its broken homes?
There, a shadow might stab you in the back,
the vicious tongue had no kind words to speak.
There was a man who swept the street,
his brush kept finding things that people dropped,
and a man who thought he was a real gunslinger,
who aimed his front door key and shot
those who looked familiar and those who were not –
his life was one long cowboy film,
days crossing the frontier of his own Wild West.
He became a legend on St Augustine Street.
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