six months on, but still.

All these streets
are paved with gold
compared to those without;
not even a bus, or a train.
Dirt kicks up behind their bare feet
for miles and miles,
and the sun beats down harder on their backs
than we could imagine.
It’s not a state of mind, you know.

It felt like it helped,
collecting faces in that race
and being in the moment as it happened.
For at least
we were thinking,
and trying.
Going on from there, we’ll keep it up.
The thoughts, at least –
but what do they help from here?

You’re still crying those bloody tears
and sleeping on hard ground
while we’re listening to our music,
and complaining about the banality of it all.
Who are they
to decide what is needed?
People in far off countries:
it’s conscious for us,
but not for you.




Perhaps,
riding a bike to work
isn’t so bad, after all.