Poem: ‘Hamlet’
Ciaran Carson, 2 March 1989
As usual, the clock in the Clock Bar was a good few minutes fast, A fiction no one really bothered to maintain, unlike the story The comrade on my left was telling, which no one knew for certain truth:Back in 1922, a sergeant, I forget his name, was shot outside the National Bank ... Ah yes, what year was it that they knocked it down? Yet, its memory’s as fresh As the inky smell of new...