When the stationmaster explained why the 06.43 wasn’t running, I put the outrage genie back in the bottle; a man had fallen in front of the train at the previous station. Someone on the platform must’ve seen my initial annoyance as, days later, the father of the man who died on the tracks found me online and made it his mission to tell everyone what sort of man I Really Was. I saw him in a pub soon after. Grief had broken him and he’d broken me. He scolded me again. By some benign toxicity we never realised the roles we passed into for a few minutes in that shitty little pub: father and son.
Ewen Glass (he/him) is a screenwriter and poet from Northern Ireland who lives with two dogs, a tortoise and a body of self-doubt; his poetry has appeared in the likes of Okay Donkey, Maudlin House, HAD, Poetry Scotland and One Art. His favorite historical feud is between the Adidas and Puma brothers. Bluesky/X/IG: @ewenglass
