Capel Celyn

No one was killed here.

A military operation:

clipboards, walkie-talkies,

radar, body warmth.

They took away the gravestones.

A kind of utopia

where every shop sells fish,

public transport is scuba diving,

the crime rate zero.

Humane Pompeii, bathetic Armageddon.

In the lake, this drowned town

I would have been born in,

I see this other me, trapped, forever drowning.

And, in Liverpool, there must be something –

some taste as vague and definite as water.