Roz Kaveney (rozk) wrote,
Roz Kaveney

And a poem about Saturday


Still, empty streets. Tendrils of grey smoke wisp.
Elsewhere a siren screams. And broken glass
crashes. And then two large black vans loom past
turning a corner. The bright day turns crisp.

Rain spots my face. I walk a while, and yells
surround me. Black striped face in a black hood
shouts slogan I can't hear. Smell of fast food
oiled noodles. And my vague impression jels

into a sense of getting elsewhere fast.
Men in dark visors beat upon their shield
and stamp until their human spirits yield
to anger, force. I shrink as they rush past.

My half-blind eye streams. Once I might have fought
for all the great good causes I support.
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