Perhaps this is a little late for the Canadian context, as most (all?) of the occupy settlements in this country have been removed. But I thought I would share a poem I wrote during the height of the actions in my city of Winnipeg about what I was seeing. While I have some conflicting ideas about this protest, I hope that in the years to come we do not forget it.
Occupied(?)
Against what (?) do we rage
can it be the semblance of humanity
imposed by the lawmakers?
Or the regulations vomited by the bureaucrats
into murky
swilling
swirling
swollen
filling cabinets?
The administrative assistant
always scrapes her arm
as she reaches for blank
information sheets.
No matter,
soon it will callous
and hurt more.
Mounded skin upon skin,
an unfeeling mass
performing a vital duty
of protection.
Canvass screams it's descent
as silks and linens roll by
on rubber and steel
yelling to the homesteaders
to go home instead.
Gloved hands reach toward the fire,
trying to avoid sparks
or they will be burned away
to reveal bare skin
to the elements.
The cold sets in
only solidifying
and crystallizing
freezing bones into immobility.
Can the drop be a ripple be a wave be a crashing into that soaring steel and stone?
Or just a footnote on the ass of this great nation?
Cause didn't those first to occupy
receive nothing but
diseased blankets
handfuls of their own hair
and a faint echo
where once the sounds
of the future generation
sang endlessly?
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