The border has been closed against the poor
The fire raged, echoing the sound of angry thoughts
A child’s toy broken, rusting in the dirt-filled streets
Card-carrying members of the human race
Felt themselves safe under the darkening sky
The rising surprise in their eyes, clear as water
The city has fallen,
the days of effervescent joy, long gone
It is bad form trying to walk out
on a Sunday afternoon in your finery
A slap in the face for those
who never had the chance
to dress in anything other than rags
Will life return to normal?
© Anita Dawes 2021
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