(Saturday's poem) Sabbat-urday

Yes I'd turn my back on them, on you, for him. No question? As that's the way we do things, or did no-one tell you that -
Bishop?
But I didn't 'cos I coudn't, 'cos while my friends were getting to work,
claws rending flesh and the wicked sicking venom and the obfuscating smoke, I was on a darkie - the kind of op where you fly in at night so as journos can't see.
There's no shame in any of this, just shame in hiding it. So much shame in hiding it.

Think of Irish, waiting for you last time, blush of life in her cheeks,
I'm holding together but I'd sooner be holding
you - not my best line, but it worked,
my gun moll.