Sheila Fitzpatrick O’Donnell on Clancy Strand by the Treaty Stone



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:


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