After the concert
they come out: Dafydd ap Gwilym,
William W. Williams, Williamstown, Sion a Sian, Ivor Emanuel,
Lloyd George, Gelert, Owain Glyn Dwr, Mrs Davies Plas Newydd,
Wyre Davies BBC so glad there's no one here to mangle his name.
Some bear programmes like souvenir flags.
Their souls have been enlivened by po-faced Elijah & enormous
huge handbags, polyester shirts, those woollen celtic
drapes that make you look like an overweight bat, M&S ties.
They discuss school funding, where to go for supper,
death last week, look there's Alun Michael, disgrace,
that Ron didn't need Clapham we have our own parks,
chi wedi mwynhau, the timpani especially.
And there are
the kids, the ones who didn't bother to go in,
unworried about identity, sitting in the bar worse than Ceris,
Welsher than R.S., louder than Iwan Bala.
New Wales unselfishly immersed in the national pastime
alcohol alcohol antipathy antidote,
not mentioned anywhere in the Assembly agenda.
Dim pwynt see bachgen, it's like breathing
you don't think, you do it, pwy yw Saunders anyway?
Over the speakers gloriously come the Furrys
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