The Killing Of George Cornell Poem by Sheena Blackhall

No one shoots a member of our gang
And gets away Scot free

He was drinking in the Blind Beggar
Typical yobbo, muscling in on our patch
It was as though he wanted to be killed

I couldn't have felt calmer if I'd tried
It was very quiet and gloomy in the pub

The barmaid she was putting on a record
‘The Sun Ain't Gonna shine no More'

He turned round. A sneer came on his face
‘Well look who's here, ' he said

I took out my gun. I shot him on the forehead
He fell over onto the bar, and that was it.

There was silence, after. Everyone disappeared

I had killed a man. I was a man to be feared