Zucotti Square 15th November

Tucked warm against cold air; a sudden rip.
Your tent’s fucked and a boot prods at your back.
Wake up, get out. Outside you hear a crack
a gunshot or a blow. On tongue and lip

Burning of pepper, cover up your eyes,
too late, grab at your stuff, it’s torn away.
Your five minutes is up, you hear them say.
Blind half-asleep you try to organize

the people near you, stagger to your feet,
holding each other, saving what you grab,
a phone, a pillow. Someone calls a cab.
It’s waiting for you when you reach the street

He doesn’t take your fare. Three blocks away
regroup, resist, recover, wait for day.


About rozkaveney

Middleaged, trans, novelist, poet, activist
This entry was posted in Uncategorized. Bookmark the permalink.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )


Connecting to %s