Rioter

by Claudia Court

He arrives on scene
with just a pinch
of resentment
a teaspoon of fight
swirling in his heart
stirred by his belief
that there are those out
to steal his future
all three kilos of it.
The brick in his hand
weighs just an ounce
of his bitterness
towards police
whose riot shields
he is attacking with
bucketloads of hatred.
He will go too far –
heaped tablespoons
of vitriol pouring
from his mouth
until he cannot stop
and stands marooned
in a puddle of spite.

A small man sits at a very long table telling very big lies and staring like a doll  

by Claudia Court, with image by Alix Emery

Russian dolls are built to shrink

     wrap around the next size down

         stream bursting its banks

         invest your money

     can’t buy you love

is like a merry-go-round

table discussions will take place

     names to be written in capitals

          Paris Rome or Kyiv

          patrolled by soldiers

     made of toast

masters raising their glass

ceiling for the fairer sex

     bomb explodes without warning

          flares are so seventies

          music was uniquely good

     gracious is that the time

zone in on your target

practise what you preach

     to the converted

          barn owls screech all night  

          sirens wail in wartime

     rations are never enough

to satisfy a small man