Swimming the streets
late at night,
then the sharks come
and threaten to bite.
The film makers there
all gather and stare;
they're unable to
tell wrong from right.
The
night gleams with violence.
Loosely
sprinkled across the cobbled stone
are
teeth and blood tinged emeralds;
the
adjacent rose-pink walls
will
need scrubbed tomorrow;
the
hair and streaks of cheek
will
need peeled
off
before the wire-brush and soap
go
through the Sunday motions.
I
walk past a police officer
fighting
back tears of anger,
stifling
the urge to vent fury
on
the ten witnesses who provide
ten
minutes of smartphone evidence,
all
ten too ignorant to realise
that
the paramedics were ten minutes
too
late to save a life.
Tomas Bird - Cherry Coal 2017
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