Another Abigail poem
May. 14th, 2010 12:16 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
rozkBethnal Green 1994-2005
She never spoke on platforms. Wasn't shy-
hated the thought and could not tell you why
of speaking to a crowd. She'd work a street
one household at a time, and she could meet
people who answered doors, and hear them moan
and leave them feeling good. And on her own
she'd walk with leaflets through a tough estate
and if a skinhead jostled, would debate
could make him cry with that same gentle voice
that soothed old ladies. When the Party's choice
was Blair, she sighed. And then there was the war.
She didn't love her Party any more
Never quite left, but thinking she'd been part
of so much death...That was what broke her heart.
She never spoke on platforms. Wasn't shy-
hated the thought and could not tell you why
of speaking to a crowd. She'd work a street
one household at a time, and she could meet
people who answered doors, and hear them moan
and leave them feeling good. And on her own
she'd walk with leaflets through a tough estate
and if a skinhead jostled, would debate
could make him cry with that same gentle voice
that soothed old ladies. When the Party's choice
was Blair, she sighed. And then there was the war.
She didn't love her Party any more
Never quite left, but thinking she'd been part
of so much death...That was what broke her heart.
