The rain roars like fire As rubble smoulders And two nations take stock Of one copper's blunder.
This is my Tottenham - My home and my heart - Where fried chicken and Spurs Unite communities.
A father was shot While holding a gun. He'd injured a PC. He'd tried, and failed, to run.
But then we heard cops Say 'We can't comment But we know he was mad, Mental and unstable."
With no evidence To back-up these claims As long as he's guilty He's also fair game
To be slandered by Those who should serve us But anger the public Who met at the station
To voice our concerns But...
The Met ignored protests. A wall of silence Hit our vocal worries And led to the kettling
Of innocent fears And beaten youngsters Demanding answers and Justice but getting none.
So houses were raised And lives set aflame With passion, emotion and Righteous authority.
Who can we blame for These acts of aggression? Twitter? The young? Maybe The poor disenfranchised?
No. Blame our police, Our ignorant chiefs, Our public school leaders And populist news briefs.
All we wanted was To speak to the boss And Nero said, "*******! I'll fiddle while you burn."
This poem was written during the riots in London in August last year while listening to a protester on the news. I was trying to get into the mind of this man who was so eloquent in displaying how events got out of control and yet only saw blame with the police. This is not condoning the view that the riots were cause by the police force nor is it condoning rioting.
Poems do not always have to be from the poet's viewpoint.