V

​Vandalism

Where we use to buy the Sunday papers,
I am the only child in-between the cameras
as police wrestle with a mass of black brick.

Beyond permitted scopes of curiosity,
this enclosure fills up with suits, saying
"do not cross the line, son, do not enter in".

People with firefly-gaze, without flame,
my displaced innocence asking
'what's so startling about a relic?'

Later, I hear a woman on the radio
blasting out anger at the arsonist's actions
and understand their fascination;

the reckless cruelty this life can hold,
how each sin is forgiven, the child thinks,
looking on, amazed.