Her arm was locked inside one giant pink leg
of a table that blocked off all traffic
To and from what was later said to be
“A very busy junction in the centre of London.”
She was laughing radiantly, having the time of her life,
While thoughts of near future, the long hours ahead
Became inwardly peppered with elipses:
A night of ossifying joints on concrete...
And cold...
And hunger...
And thirst...
And exposed, one-armed toilet arrangements...
She spoke with passion
To the BBC
About injustice
And the urgent need for repentance: the changing of minds,
And in between interviews, chatted freely with me
As if it were a normal, sunny day coming home from work on the bus.
I opened bottle tops and scratched her arm where it itched
And noticed the way that in touching my hand
felt protective of the warmth in her skin
Desiring to unlock and free
(Get behind me satan)
But later,
when the police moved in,
I left.
