Keep on running
29 January, 2008
She runs down the street,
A cold fish finger in her hand.
Snatched from a supper table,
As she flashed past
The bitter memories
Of a cold, dark life.
The relentless drizzle falls,
From a darkening twilight sky,
Turning the pavement to glass,
Matting her hair,
Mixing with her tears.
But she runs on.
She runs, choking with every step,
But trying to feel the exhilaration,
As she steps and threads through the crowds.
Trying to marvel at her ability,
Trying to feel the hope,
Trying to kill the pain.
A thousand shouts ring in her ears.
She runs faster to make them fall behind.
The angry faces just behind her head.
Don’t turn around.
They will hurt you,
They will hurt you.
The cold fish finger breaks as the rain soaks through,
As she squeezes it even tighter.
As it disintegrates to nothing,
She sobs and falls to the ground.
The wet ground, a cold London street,
With a thousand empty faces.
No-one stops. A woman looks, just glances.
Get up, child, and keep on running.
Don’t stop, child, keep on running,
Keep on pushing and threading your way through the crowd.
Don’t stop, even though the voices have been left behind.
Don’t look back, even though the faces have gone.
She opens her little hand, cold and wet with rain.
Tiny traces of cold fish finger are still there.
Little yellow crumbs smeared and crushed,
Lining the cracks in her palm.
She heaves a sob out of her little chest.
Her young lungs not touched by smoke,
Blood not tainted by coke, ecstasy, heroin.
A thousands deaths await you, child.
Keep on running.