When the snow came down it was ash

A grey cloud of dancing flakes

Settling in the winter sun

Shapes became shapeless

A car became a war machine

A lamppost, an anti-aircraft gun

A shop that sold sweets was a place to hide

From ash-covered children or secret police

From toy lightsabers or batons

Or fully automatic water pistols

Spraying showers of metal shrapnel

Hidden inside little water droplets.


When the snow came down it was blood

A red cloud of misting rage

Descending on the people

Regardless of age or mobility

Generating hostility over generations

A clenched fist on the side of the road

A raised hand in a crowd, one of thousands

Flies settling on the dead, no time for shrouds

Bullets crossing streets, police

Lowering visors, taking aim

Blood following blood, the city

Blanketed, carpeted in a warm glow of pain.



© Copyright David Marriott  all rights reserved­.