“They’re meant to be somewhere.”
“Not here,” I said.
Wear without wearers.
Hats without heads.
Pavements of placards.
Litter of loss.
Leaflets discarded.
Politics and dross.
Competitive opinion.
Numbers decide.
Marchers and voters,
Changing the tide.
Batons of fairness.
Truncheons so kind.
The enforcers of order
Help make up my mind.
These hats on the floor
Some speckled with blood
Become cushions for boots
Some speckled with mud.
Woolly ones, beanies,
Bandanas, and caps.
Symbolically leaving
Their owners in packs.
Coalitions disbanded.
The end of the pact.
No partnership so strong.
As a wearer and hat.
Tis a sad day for all.
This division and rule.
To leave heads without hats
Is unusual and cruel.