A drunken young lout
Pushes a streetperson under a bus
Literally, not a metaphor, but an action
Called manslaughter in the courts
Gets twelve months for taking a life
While the anarchist poet who protested
Against the corporate system and the billion dollar circus
G20 power broking gun-toting overlords
In the course of doing so managed to beat up a cop car
Laid the boots to it
But no flesh, just lifeless metal and plastic
Well, she got 15 months for that
Says a lot about our cultural values
That juxtaposition says cognitive dissonance
Our scales of justice need recalibration, surely
So poets and friends gather
In support
Fellowship with the oppressed
Reaching out across miles and through the bars
To say your words matter
Your poems shine
Her voice echoes through the mouths of others
But soars in brilliant splendor no matter who stands in
These words slice scalpel sharp across the bloated flesh
Of an overstuffed corpse
Cadaver of capitalism
Poets versed in spoken artistry bounce her words sharply
Scoring three pointers
Effortlessly
Then nervous friends
From the streets and shelters
Couch surfers
The struggling, independent, non-conformists, radical thinkers
Step up and eloquently speak her words in angel breaths
Redemption found through struggle
Change manifesting itself through art
Comrades all, tonight
David Trudel © 2012
http://kellypflugback.wordpress.com/these-burning-streets/
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