I’m dead. They killed me,
why?
I build their homes, their mansions, their castles,
Yet they killed me!
I gave them an honest day’s work,
Yet they killed me!
I gave them the sweat of my brow,
Yet they killed me!
I gave them a life shortened by hardship and toil,
Yet they killed me!
I made them obscenely rich beyond their wildest dreams,
Yet they killed me!
I gave them my blood,
Yet they killed me!
I gave them my life a thousand-fold,
Yet they keep on killing me!
Who will remember me?
Who will care for my family now that I’m gone?
Who will stop them killing?
Not me, I’m dead.
They killed me – Why, for God’s sake, why?
They robbed my children of the innocence of childhood,
They cheated my family of their lawful inheritance.
Who are you? What are you?
Where are you going with your soulless wealth?
Perchance to Hell!
Epilogue (Young Daughter speaking tearfully to her mother)
Mammy, Where is Daddy?
Will my Daddy be home to read me a story?
And rock me to sleep?
I love my daddy and I love you
Why are you crying?
please stop crying.
Michael Brennan | December 2002
About the Poem
In the year 2002, twenty-two people were killed on Irish construction sites, the highest number killed since the foundation of the State. As a mark of respect, Construction Unions organised a protest march in Dublin. It was well attended and excellent speeches were made by the Trade Union officials. The theme most of the speeches had in common was the call for the introduction of legislation that should effectively give greater protection to the Construction Workers. Not alone is there a legal imperative, there is a moral imperative, and an urgency to introduce legislation on corporate killing, which if effective, would imprison offending employers.
Protest marches bring about major changes in the nature of our society, they can change the course of history, and have done so, and they can even bring governments down. Only time will tell whether the legislation if demanded by the construction unions will be introduced. If not, then their protest marches may, like many others be confined to the dustbins of history, and for the most part will only be remembered by the people who took part in the protest. For that to happen would be unacceptable and shocking.
That is one of the reasons why this poem was written. The other is, to at least commemorate the lives and untimely deaths of the many construction workers killed over the years at their place of work. Those killed are worthy of more than a few badly written verses, and a single protest march.
The poem is written out of furious indignation and righteous anger in the full knowledge that it too may even end up in a dustbin. So be it, but until such time as someone, somewhere, somehow, will sometime pen a poem that more adequately conveys the lament of a construction worker killed onsite, this memorial poem will have to do.
Michael Brennan | May 2004
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