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.
