We who with songs beguile your pilgrimage / And swear that Beauty lives though lilies die, / We Poets of the proud old lineage / Who sing to find your hearts, we know not why ... (James Elroy Flecker)

12.2.26

Them

(Sydney, February 2026 )


We stopped calling them pigs

decades ago. 


So long since they rode their horses

into us


or charged us with batons raised

and wielded.


I sort of knew there were still

bad apples …


(I suddenly become aware) I thought I

was immune


with my white skin and my

middle class.


I watch the news tonight

and now


I know that no-one’s immune from

the bash


and none of them is immune from the

power buzz


as they wade into the crowd with

active fists.


One night is all it takes. At 86, instantly

I’m re-radicalised.


(I dare say it’s very unfair to

real pigs.)




Of course, what this doesn't address is, where do their orders come from? (Rhetorical question.)



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