The dying corporal was spread eagled
in his underpants, his executioners
and judges – a mob of fathers and sons –
dressed, as he had been, undercover,
in trainers, denims and a sweater.
Civil war, for almost a generation,
had burgeoned. Solutions receded. Rights
gained were matched by rights removed: all our freedoms
lessened so neighbours might vote, have jobs,
houses. Things did not make sense, only words.
‘Derry’ was a political statement.