Poetry

‘Breathless’ and ‘Our street’ poems

By: Lynn White

Breathless

In this new society
of masks and miasmas
we are being suffocated
with pillows of power
and prejudice,
hardly hidden,
in the institutions
we were told would protect
us all.
Some of us
believed it.

But the old masks are off now,
forced off the face by lies.
All they hid is exposed.
We know it now.

So we put on our mask
carefully
to protect
ourselves.
Before we show them.
We know now
that we are all
George Floyd
potentially
later or sooner.
And we know
we are all his killers
potentially
later or sooner
unless we look behind the masks.

###


Our Street

This was us
our street
before the bombs fell
and turned it to rubble
and ashes
and turned us to dust
and ashes.
This is us
our street
where the lights shine brightly
and the Liquor Store is open
for party goers,
where the buildings
stand neatly in line,
where tomorrows are
as predictable
as todays
still.
This is the US
where the bombs don’t fall.

Categories: Poetry

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