28th October 2011
White slab on the doormat, postmark,
a familiar china blue – the forfeit
of dignity in monthly increments -
and I’m sick to my stomach, again;
And on TV – Occupy Wall Street –
as though greed were a discovery,
injustice, a shiny toy or the new Black.
I’ve been in my foxhole for three years now,
dug in behind enemy lies - terraced walls,
the polite exterior of war - wrestling
the slick of their machinery, bare hands ink
bloodied in daily skirmishes with quick-sand
bureaucracy – and you, with the placard,
the ironic slogan, where the f**k were you?
© Angela T Carr
Occupy protesters plan 300-mile march from NYC to Washington
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Angela has been published in an anthology and literary magazines, and Commended in this year’s Patrick Kavanagh Award. She is based at the Irish Writers Centre in Dublin.
