It’s in your blood they said. Something big is coming.
He could only feel the cold come in off the Irish
Sea as he projected politics on to the steel sheets
of the railway bridge. He was to paint anti-English
slogans throughout the town and district: in bus shelters,
on walls, holiday homes. Though why written in Welsh,
a conundrum to the Mochyn Saesneg*,no-one explained.
They spoke solely of his ancestors’ pride.
Many would later claim it, but he was first
on the scene the morning that bomb prematurely
exploded – the bomb meant for the investiture train.
One bang gave birth to another universe;
its cosmos the spatter of gore that was once
Alwyn Jones and George Taylor; the vibrant stains
like shadows of himself only seconds before. And the blood
was just like his, as red as y ddraig** – but different,
he told himself. It had to be different.
*Mochyn Saesneg – English Pig Welsh
** y ddraig – the dragon Welsh
Brett Evans is a poet based in North Wales. He is the poetry editor of Prole magazine.