Of Trains and Revolutions

Silver and lopsided, I am
hobbling; seven days of protests,
a twisted knee have wearied me
into thoughts of

into the dark gap between the monstrous grinding
rush and the light
every day three trains
every day, three itty bitty steps into
short-lived ‘white-girl-gone-wrong’
glory. They do not let me sit

there is
no space
for me

pinched between the rowdy
schoolboys in sporting colours stinking of pressure, with their
spots to the hairline
and failure in the blood. They are
tomorrow’s papers, if I squint

I could be tomorrow’s too
front page, my sorry say-so black and
puce in newsprint, if

and only if
I lit up the press like them; a lantern
an insurgent immolation
instead of limping, only limping
from the green line
to the red.

About fiercemissc

Twenty-something Geordie girl living and working in Hong Kong. Young, free and single and making the most of it.
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