In the Eye of a Storm in a Teacup

‘They seek to work on the most basic of human emotions: Pity.’
-Margaret Thatcher, 1981.

The Sun looks down through fog, but life goes on
Like yesterday; a heap of flesh and cloth
Remains unstirred by feathered wings and leathered feet,
The paper, tin, and ash that fall on concrete.
As Earth turns, indifferent, on its axis,
And shadow creeps across its surface,
Life departs the streets in all directions,
Each creature to itself, insensate.
Two spectres, alchemised within the dark,
Flit between the city’s granite veins.
Steel glimmers, and blood obscures reflected stars
As screaming lungs are torn apart with blades.
Then silence. Bitter winds caress the figure lying
Barely breathing; choking, weeping, dying.
As the spectres vanish into misty dusk,
The Moon stares blankly at the Earth, as if to shrug.