Sunday, 6 May 2012

Sunday Poem


This isn't the light we wanted, the weather
we're supposed to be having. But it's still
sometimes all we have to talk about. We
put all our little fingertips in the sky
and changed the climate—those are your
fingerprints on the moon, and mine. Now
we've made room for these leaders,
appointments moving like flocks of birds
down the calendar. The police get sweeping
new powers to sweep us away, and we hope
this particular patchwork of leaders will give
a little thought to the little people, some
blank-eyed woman behind a window holding
a sandwich to her face like gauze to a wound.
Not to worry, there are key initiatives,
discussions. I know change, it's like a coin
we take out and toss again and again. All
we're doing is hanging like a water droplet.
From The Least Important Man (Biblioasis, 2012) by Alex Boyd.

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