anarchist nights

6.5.2020        [anarchist nights]

a young platinum haired boy
in shorts stands facing a wall
of hazy confused newspaper panels

they appear like smoke before him
as he raises his imaginary toy
ramming device to knock
them down.

it’s all a play to him, of mists and
fantasy
but the people and the damage
are real.
==================

This entry was posted in poetry and tagged , , , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

Leave a comment

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.