Riot

A stabbed child leaks excuses

Inside them resides the urge, hidden like a demiurge

Dublin City like the Purge: it burns it burns it burns

Thick necked Gards in riot gear cordoning off O’Connell Street

Pallid ghouls selling gear, Bordening off lifespans at O’Connell’s feet

Where dark delights meet plain daylights and the junk-blue vein is a common sight

Where the doctor is Quirkey and they chew like jerky, the pilled up here young men

Patriots on wrecking balls condoning hate on O’Connell Street

Risen Christ blood sacrifice a postal office in battle heat some year ago now on O’Connell Street

A looker stooping to give herself a manicure, glass slipper kind of feet

On closer inspection a junkie shooting up his feet in a shopfront on Talbot street

An evidence locker with a bloodspattered helmet daubed with Brazilian flag stickers

A ransacked Footlocker, a token for riot partook in a shiny new pair of kickers

Chorus of struck shutters juddering, riots and rumours of riots, WhatsApp mutterings

Crimson sky to spook the shepherds, city’s many rotten parts the lepers

Rocks thudding against raised riot shields, a line of brogues with truncheons steeled

We level it to shake the Brits but in maddening crowd no Markiewicz

Ireland’s sons and daughters antipodes evince no freedom in these violent throes

A man is foreign by his violent soul, form and shade won’t make a foe

When hate corrodes they’ll close the roads, O’Connell Street where’s the GPO.