There is a black bruise
on the sweet fruit of protest,
and the city chokes on its bitterness.
Storefronts are smashed and cop cars burn
-- not universal symbols, but words
that mean different things
in different languages.
The medium swallows the message.
Beating their batons, the police
chase protestors through flower beds
in Queen’s Park, where politicians make
laws that are first broken, then spoken.
One hundred citizens charged like beasts,
so seven hundred will sleep in cages.
Civil rights are more fragile than people.
Police still walk in crowds along Queen Street
where smashed windows have been covered up
with wooden boards like political excuses.
When I pass them on my way to lunch,
my mouth can’t decide which way to turn
(a smile feels like a permission slip,
a frown a kick to the groin)
so I just look away.
A broken window is easier to fix than a promise.
Photo by Commodore Gandalf Cunningham
(At the risk of starting up another G20 debate in another comment section) What are your thoughts on the interaction between police and protestors throughout the G20 summit and aftermath?