Roz Kaveney (rozk) wrote,
Roz Kaveney

Zucotti Square 15th November

Tucked warm against cold air; a sudden rip.
Your tent's fucked and a boot prods at your back.
Wake up, get out. Outside you hear a crack
a gunshot or a blow. On tongue and lip

Burning of pepper, cover up your eyes,
too late, grab at your stuff, it's torn away.
Your five minutes is up, you hear them say.
Blind half-asleep you try to organize

the people near you, stagger to your feet,
holding each other, saving what you grab,
a phone, a pillow. Someone calls a cab.
It's waiting for you when you reach the street

He doesn't take your fare. Three blocks away
regroup, resist, recover, wait for day.

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