Francis Duggan


Mick Punk - Poem by Francis Duggan

We called him Mick Punk he stuck out his tongue
And he shook his fist at us, we ran away
It was our way of making childhood fun
Are children any different today?

His fist shaking was only in pretence
For that poor fellow would not harm a fly
He was not really bothered by our taunts
And our attentions he seemed to enjoy.

'Mick Punk' the only name we knew him by
Though I think Michael Murphy was his proper name
And in Millstreet Town when I was a young lad
He was a character who enjoyed local fame

A fellow I can vaguely visualize
when childhood memories I tend to recall
A barrel chested man of sturdy build
Of five foot six or five foot seven tall.

If memory serves me right he had tattoos
And he was a sailor in his prime 'twas said
But without a woman to weep on his grave
For I don't think that he had ever wed.

We called him Mick Punk he stuck out his tongue
And he shook his fist and frightened us away
And the school children who taunted him back then
Are now getting old and show their years in gray.

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Poem Submitted: Thursday, March 6, 2008



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