Helen Lehndorf: “Ways out”
Lately there have been complaints
about our night-time meanderings.
We sellotape roses on city walls,
write civic-minded graffiti on park benches.
We get things so very wrong
but I am substantial — not even this wind will blow me away.
When we get home from the police station, I swallow down my vitamin pills
like they are the answers to the questions I cannot ask.
Today, we give you a day off grinding,
some small hand-made things, a brown cake.
You are too young to be weary of birthdays, but the windows
have bars. The city has clamped shut over you.
You are a weather report: scattered at times, cloudy.
Tomorrow, you will begin your escape with
a teaspoon of rubble,
a ride on the train.