• Vol. 05
  • Chapter 03
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Tones of Blue

It's my father's eyes
despite his Irish Catholicism,
mother's were warm brown hugs of earth.

It was never our tricolour
of Glasgow Celtic, prayers and mass,
it was their Union Jack and Glasgow Rangers.

It wasn't our primary, that was purple, it was
our secondary; v-necks, ties and bullies,
fenians never, protestants forever.


It was the Himalayan poppies that brought cheer
to our first country garden and the soundtrack
for your infidelity and our separation.

Of course it's the sky, but why?
Sometimes it's the sea, but not the Clyde,
it's grey like smoke.