Poetry Corner

Excuse me Australia,

I know it’s a closed session, but I would like to ask a question...on rights

Something like...

Who’s got the right to light-up a furnace

And just watch it burn through the blackest, darkest

Light of a blind man’s midnight – and while its fire still flickers,

Whittle their will

down to a fine-toothed comb

That splits my skin

and crinkles my curls

as I work it through my head.

 

‘Cos I learned, only yesterday

That the Australian delegation

Want to relegate human rights appeals

From their current place in the

Nose-bleed seats of the CDM stadium;

to an empty beat

in what once was bracketed text

that gave businUSs and us

a one sentenced, equal bet, at the right to appeal.

 

But maybe I should have guessed

That when you’re sitting at a desk,

It’s not so easy to remember

what it feels like to set your filing cabinet on fire,

and find yourself without your suit and tie,

but as a real-life person that hurts sometimes,

and would really appreciate one night

to appeal their day-to-day, CDM-struggle

through life.

 

– Chris Wright

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