Noone he writes, one night, tongue out, as No one
For a laugh in Longsight, on a split beer mat
With a betting shop pen. ‘Noone –
It’s No one – the name – you know – Noone.’ But

No one saw Paddy Noone shadowed below
In the shuttering, taking a leak amongst
The steel; the bucket swung and Casey from Carlow
Concreted him in. No sound, new no shout, no one

Missed Noone, a navvy on the lump.
No records kept, no questions asked;
They thought he’d jacked, had slung
His hook for a better rate on the new by-pass.

The woman at the digs bins his few clothes,
His rosary; and a wife on Achill watches down the road,
And tells the children that there’ll be post soon
From Manchester, from Daddy, no one, Noone.