The Memories of Land and Marble

If streets could speak and talk and tell,
Of all the feet that upon them fell,
Perhaps they’d tell of tents and purists
Replaced by birds, trainers and tourists,

Bemoaning that they cannot feel
A semblance of feelings real,
Where once there was an air of change,
A simple switch seems out of range.

The plastic bullets they swept away,
The handcuffed boys have done their stay,
The blood’s been washed from marbled tiles,
Replaced by fake asbestos smiles,

And all the while I look around,
Remember bodies on the mound
Remember splattered crunch of teeth,
Remember smell of cannabis leaf,
Remember hands that begged for water,
Mother cradling her daughter,
A group together now disbanded,
It seems post-truth has finally landed.

Advertisements

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s