Letter To A Full Time Revolutionary

Your latest outfit an arrangement in grey.
You’d vanish into the wallpaper,
but for the chopping movement
your hand makes as you strike
just the right note;
wax ideological, now
Venezuela, now
the latest interest rate rise;
put on a human voice to tell us
about the old woman left
to die in her own mess
on the twenty first floor
of a tower-block named after
the bloke who started
the Boer War.

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