Was it Dromod or Rooskey
where the people waiting for the parade
got the solemn flow of cars instead?
And the people waiting for the hearse
got the foundered marching band?
A dozen crimson melodeons in the rain.
Or was it Ballinamore or Russell Square?
The first of April anyway.
A feis and a funeral on the one day.

The Heavens opened at the church itself
and caught off guard by seven priests,
the Rosary – the whole thing as I recall –
and by Hammond, Heaney, Friel
up against the kind of gable wall
you'd hang your crutches on,
I listened in as neighbouring men
with reddened cheeks stepped up
and made the final job complete.
The scrape and thud of Aughawillan clay.
That breath I took before I drove away

John Kelly is a broadcaster and writer. His latest novel is From Out of the City (Dalkey Archive Press)