Numb, shocked, teetering on the fractured edge of emotion.
Sickened, torn and tempted to seek irrational revenge.
Walking unbalanced along the high wire of sympathy,
falling through pages of my well thumbed dictionary.
Since when did calculated words of anger have to rhyme?
Blame not the veneer of privilege, or make excuses
for the stubornness of poverty, distrust of ambition,
and, don't regret missed opportunities: They, will return.
Unlike the dead! You can look with guilt into the mirror,
retracing your tired steps and reinventing your image.
But ask yourself: Could it have been you in that apartment?
The universe offers no simple answer or reason,
as logic waits patiently at the gates of human greed.
Writing after Grenfell; my patience is but exhausted!
Capability Red March 2018
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