My Flag

It’s not the one flown from the stern of a slave ship
or over the auction block, or plantation field
or from the aft mast on return to Bristol, Liverpool
or London heavy with sugar and gold.
It’s not the one flown over Calcutta, Delhi or Jodhpur
when the British crown closed down
the East India Company and took over the
conquered country themselves for a century more.
It’s not the one dripping blood from Empire
where the sun never set, once called the Devil’s Apron
flown over the worker’s compound, army fort and camp, 
over the Governor’s residence or a diamond mine.
It’s not the one flown above the H-Block cage
where Bobby Sands starved to death a century after
his country was starved by famine for Queen Victoria
and Ireland was divided by the military boot.
It’s not the one wrapped around thugs who scream fuck off 
back to where you came from, or fucking commie, who
defend the royal family and sing Britons will never, never
be slaves set against small boats and hotels.
My flag is red and flies in freedom’s heart without
borders it stands in solidarity with humanity.​

Roager Huddle Oct 2025