Gabriel
Slouched upon the footpath
He hugged,
A brown paper bag,
Between swigs of tawny wine
Voluptuous lips ranted.
A mind-full of intelligence
Peered through
Water-filled eyes
And weather beaten face.
Each crease weighed a ton.
On those lousy grey winter days
Fierce winds charged with a rush
From Thomond bridge
Silently, between doorways
He took cover.
Gabriel Hanagan
Was a cute oul whore!
Oh but,
The warmth of his smile
Could tease the last shilling
From any man’s pocket.
– Sheila Fitzpatrick O’Donnell
Photographs by Natalie Woociker:
