the
drones are invisible
but
they can be heard –
an
eggbeater flying
over
the Holy Land
the
sound of its motor
echoing,
echoing…
a fire is burning.
Last
night City
Centre
was locked down.
This
morning meat wagons
line
up in jagged rows
the
men who drive them
in
full riot gear…
the fire’s still burning.
Don’t
say, the Protestants
are
lighting fires
in
front of City Hall
Don’t
say, the Catholics
are
dancing in Belfast confetti
at
the interfaces and peace walls …
it is not religion
The
young people march
down
Shankill Road
to
meet the riot police
the
eggbeaters droning overhead
The
young people are
picking
up the flag…
it is nationalism, not religion.
Your poetry is as powerful and unexpected as your fiction, Rebekah.
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