I moved to the east end of Glasgow after thirty years of living in my little bubble in the west of the city. I’d never witnessed an Orange Walk up close; whilst I knew they existed, they were pretty much out with my radar of experience. I am an atheist, although I was brought up loosely Church of Scotland. Church attendance was rare: weddings, funerals, Sundays when visiting grandparents. I have, of course, been aware of sectarianism from an early age. It confused me then. It still does.
The poem describes an encounter. It is an emotional reaction to what was witnessed. I do not wish to offend anyone, but I also understand that any comment on these types of processions is always going to be a challenge to the opinions and views of others. It is a controversial topic. Hence the subtitle.