Belfast Confetti

Suddenly as the riot squad moved in it was raining exclamation

marks,

Nuts, bolts, nails, car-keys. A fount of broken type. And

the explosion

Itself – an asterisk on the map. This hyphenated line, a burst

of rapid fire …

I was trying to complete a sentence in my head, but it kept

stuttering,

All the alleyways and side streets blocked with stops and

colons.

I know this labyrinth so well – Balaklava, Raglan, Inkerman,

Odessa Street –

Why can’t I escape? Every move is punctuated. Crimea Street.

Dead end again.

A Saracen, Kremlin-2 mesh. Makrolon face-shields. Walkie-

talkies. What is

My name? Where am I coming from? Where am I going?

A fusillade of question-marks.

CIARAN CARSON