You with your orange hair
breaking into “The Sash”
as we pranced from supermarket to bar
that warm day in Coleraine.
And us shouting you down-
you with all your talk of truce
and not even Irish.
But we laughed as you whistled on;
I let my arm stay in yours.
Well, it was a good tune-
and weren’t you really a man of peace?
Were you? I look at my scars.
From Ambit magazine issue 65, 1976