symphony

it seemed we came to be
on a housing estate at the edge of eden
across the road from the old chemical factory
that icon of 1960's dublin
lawn mowers creaking buses feuding families
it all seems oddly perfect now
hard to know what's real and what's imagined
difficult to care somehow
in my rose tinted memory miasma
of the trivial heroic glory that was tallaght

time left no trace upon our path
until grainne mulhern came like death into our world
changing the boundaries of the universe
with all the careless cruelty of a little girl
i fought darragh murphy for her hand
and after brian kennedy stood against me
it mattered not who
for all our fighting she never knew
bicycles tree climbing and television
carried our friendships to safer realms
we left loving for another day
and kicked football all summer on tended lawns

then late in august 1971
the street gangs came to fight outside our house
every night for a week around 3am
we'd wake to hear their swearing and the shouts
ritual rites of passage social violence
teenagers with knives and women and motorbikes
they nearly drove my father up the wall
by friday night he'd had all he could take
grabbed his shotgun intent on giving hell
he loosed both barrels high into the sky
and reloaded while the youngsters backed away
less sure of their rights than hoodlums are today
they wander off into the mists of time and fantasy

and as their echoing footsteps grew yet more distant
sprightly wiry tough mick kennedy
champion jockey eternally vigilant
flung open wide the upstairs window at number 17
to shout with thunderous might and main
we're all behind you tom
inspiring legendary mirth all through next day
and for many years among the other residents
but unheard by the teenage warriors of the affray
who were long gone

all the old memories stir

it seemed we came to be
on a housing estate at the edge of eden
across the road from the old chemical factory
that icon of 1960's dublin
lawnmowers creaking buses feuding families
it all seems oddly perfect now
difficult to know what's real and what's imagined
difficult to care somehow
in this rose tinted memory miasma
of the trivial heroic glory of tallaght