by David Chorlton
When the night
is a blue ring of police
and the stars
shine through a visor;
when the moon
is an alarm bell
set to announce
the eviction of sleepers
from homes they do not have;
when lights
spin too fast
to create even shadows
in which to hide;
when men
are shields walking;
when the baton
swings
like the tongue
of freedom’s bell
it strikes
not with a ring
but as a thud
that soaks
into the darkness
to observe
the moment when
supply meets demand
in a market
that trades
in hunger
and obedience.
David Chorlton has lived in Arizona since 1978, when he moved from Vienna, Austria. While much of his poetry is about the Southwestern landscape, his newest publication, and first work of fiction, is The Taste of Fog from Rain Mountain Press, reflecting a darker side of Vienna.
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