The Wood Road by Seamus Heaney

The Wood Road

Resurfaced, never widened,

The verges grassy as when

Bill Pickering lay with his gun

Under the summer hedge

Nightwatching, in uniform—

Special militiaman.

Moonlight on rifle barrels,

On the windscreen of a van

Roadblocking the road,

The rest of his staunch patrol

In profile, sentry-loyal,

Harassing Mulhollandstown.

Or me in broad daylight

On top of a cartload

Of turf built trig and tight,

Looked up to, looking down,

Allowed the reins like an adult

As the old cart rocked and rollicked.

Then that August day I walked it

“To the hunger striker’s wake,

Across a silent yard,

In past a watching crowd

To where the guarded corpse

And a guard of honour stared.

Or the stain at the end of the lane

Where the child on her bike was hit

By a speed-merchant from nowhere

Hard-rounding the corner,

A back wheel spinning in sunshine,

A headlamp in smithereens.

Film it in sepia,

Drip-paint it in blood,

The Wood Road as is and was,

Resurfaced, never widened,

The milk-churn deck and the sign

For the bus-stop overgrown.