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.
