Monday, July 11, 2011

ANDY GAW by Máirtin Ó Connallan,

Andy Gaw
© 2011

I used meet Andy Gaw
In Pana
I was ten
He'd slip me thruppence
Into my tiny hand
Even tinier
White as alabaster
And just as smooth as
Ogre like to a child's mind.
Always in a cap and coat
Winter or summer
Talking barely audible,
A book
Or two
Under his oxter.
I found out later
They never charged him
In the Library
A quintessential borrower
He robbed the rich
To pay the poor
They said
I wasn't poor
He was poor.
Oh childish mind, little did I know
Here was Cork's own
Mother Theresa
An eon before.
He stood up for me
The day the “Echo” boys
Attacked me
Down Bowling Green Street
They froze
Not knowing how to handle
This little man
Silently, fiercely
Shielding my small frame
From their taunts and kicks;
Never mind son
He whispered
They know no better
They'd know better
If my three strong brothers were with me.

1 comment:

  1. Great poem. I used to be scared of Andy Gaw. You have shown him in a very different light. Thanks for that. Victor