by Ewen Glass

bilious stomach
four pints had
second train
no toilets on the first
as we roll through a tunnel in the peak district my stomach my stomach
does not fall no
my stomach visits me and asks questions
I told you I told you how could you not know
from outside in
it penetrates us       its nerves its nerves its nerves
why didn’t I follow it into battle
or       it has its pauses down       or       into retreat
at least listen
and it spasms in the empty carriage
but it’s a judgy spasm
in quiver veritas
and I say I will listen I will follow
you knew more than the brain       the ol noggin       the ol
pulling out of dark
the train arrives at the station
we’ll be home soon
and I understand my stomach’s anger
the pain of not being heeded
and all the shit that follows

---

Ewen is a Northern Irish poet who lives in England with two dogs, a tortoise and lots of self-doubt; on a given day, any or all of these can be snapping at his heels. His work has appeared or is forthcoming in HAD, Bridge Eight, Poetry Scotland, Maudlin House, Belfast Review and elsewhere.