Signposts

Mate

I don’t carry

signposts;

I can be more useful

with a pen

than with a pennard.

 

I’m just standing

where I always stand

in the shadow of the Eden

House of Fraser,

red hands with scabs,

chapped and angry

but always

a peaceful

protest.

 

We called them racists,

we called them fascists,

and despite the images

plastered across the media,

we’re still running market stalls

and listening to speeches

in the semi-sunshine.

 

This poem is

sponsored by Barclays,

a blue pen with black ink

helping me to think straight.

 

Lorraine is here,

not selling cakes

but just dressed in black

against fascism;

I’m wearing orange

for peace and happiness.

 

This is

the colourful clash

against fascism.