by Peter Calder
He says they’re
all in on it.
Every single
bastard one.
They know what
they are doing.
Death of Scotland.
That’s what he says.
Politicians. Scientists.
Journalists.
All of them—
Liars.
A ripple of hands
startles a pigeon
and sends the flock
soaring above the square.
But this Rally—he says
is rewriting history.
A pocket of truth
in a new skin suit.
And I guess he’s right.
It is just skin
holding us together.
We’re all in on it.
The left. The right.
The indifferent.
Every single one of us
wrapped up in it.
From Westminster
to Glasgow lies
a body, bruised
in patches of blue.
It happens almost
unnoticed. The birds
loop and scatter
on the ground.
An old man
tosses crumbs—
and the flock
follows.
all in on it.
Every single
bastard one.
They know what
they are doing.
Death of Scotland.
That’s what he says.
Politicians. Scientists.
Journalists.
All of them—
Liars.
A ripple of hands
startles a pigeon
and sends the flock
soaring above the square.
But this Rally—he says
is rewriting history.
A pocket of truth
in a new skin suit.
And I guess he’s right.
It is just skin
holding us together.
We’re all in on it.
The left. The right.
The indifferent.
Every single one of us
wrapped up in it.
From Westminster
to Glasgow lies
a body, bruised
in patches of blue.
It happens almost
unnoticed. The birds
loop and scatter
on the ground.
An old man
tosses crumbs—
and the flock
follows.
Peter Calder is a Primary School teacher living and working in Glasgow. He is the co-founder and editor of the Hull based magazine Descent Spread and has had poetry and short stories published in various UK-based magazines.
