“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.