As the eggbeater spy in the sky flickered overhead, the TV developed a facial tic
Or as it turned out, the protesters had handcuffed themselves to the studio lights.
Muffled off-camera, shouts of No. As I tried to lip-read the talking head
An arms cache came up, magazines laid out like a tray of wedding rings.
The bomb-disposal expert whose face was in shadow for security reasons
Had started very young by taking a torch apart at Christmas to see what made it tick.
Everything went dark. The killers escaped in a red Fiesta according to the sources.
Talking, said the Bishop, is better than killing. Just before the Weather
The victim is his wedding photograph. He's been spattered with confetti.
Ciarán Carson, Belfast Confetti, Wake Forest University Press, Winston-Salem, 1989
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