G-20 poem

1. The mechanical voice

The mechanical voice has won,
The lines of black-clad cops retract over the most stubborn,
For the chickenshit, the bystanders,
Those waiting for the moment that is not this,
It is time to give up our brief protest.
Somewhere the boy with the bullhorn,
Talking about our God given rights
(“We – the people – have the right – to assemble”)
Has been suppressed, it is over
We will disperse, as commanded.


2. Body anticipation

As we cross the Cathedral lawn,
With tear gas building swiftly behind,
My cousin and I let go of each other’s hands,
Raise them above our heads, walking oh, so slowly
Past one man in armor, no face, weapon at the ready,
I wait for arms wrenched backwards,
Face on the grass, knees in the back, outraged orders,
I wait for the sting of his rubber bullet gun,
Each place on my body anticipating the turn to shining purple-black.