Poem on the Prorogation of Parliament

The Twenty-eighth of August 2019, the Prorogation of Parliament

 

That day when the wedding guests exploded;

That day when I let a wee girl ricochet

From and towards her mother’s spew of blame;

That day I didn’t shelter

A railway worker from a racist shower …

 

Some close at hand, some far.

Kabul or Coleraine station, the same acid rain.

 

Today in Coleraine station I was witness

To the airiness some architect enticed inside;

To a guard whose smile kept all our doors ajar;

And, in town, to cocktail bottles

Wittily displayed. Such light-filled things.

 

Some close at hand, some far.

Kabul or Coleraine station, the same inherent shine.

 

Today, when democracy exploded,

I was treadmilling for an email thrill

When I caught the acrid taste of tipping-point.

In the rank mulch of small misdeeds

The great ones grow. Wake up, wake up, my soul.

 

Some close at hand, some far.

Kabul, Coleraine, the Commons, I must reach those I can.

 

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