I made space.
After all those years,
I joined a class.
I wrote a poem,
shared it like a gift.
Riding the top deck over
Waterloo Bridge after, I was
high on me and river vistas –
light-boxes of brilliance,
spot-lit, oversize geometry,
ranks of giant cranes cocked,
red dot beams warning of height.
You have put London and
me back in our boxes.
Not a shot fired and you’re
running the place.
Intimate terrorist, you
occupy the living room.
We creep around you,
sprawled out, spouting,
dictating, drunk on yourself.
Resistance is from within.
I collect and contain myself.
I make space.
………………
Siobhan Ward lives in London.