Katie Hopkins (Remove filter)
every night, the same dream
the stink of diesel and of fear which
everyone’s pretending is not here
because if they do not name it, it will not be real
but in the hot bodies of the strangers pressed
around her she can feel
the tension of a panic only held at bay
like sea-sickness, with iron will, good fortune,
muttered prayers
inshallahinjesusnameinshallahinjesusname
they rise and fall, jaws clench and clench again
...
Monday 20th April 2015 7:10 pm

Recent Comments
Greg Freeman on Bottle palm
7 hours ago
Mark Boor on Noel Nonets
23 hours ago
Martin Elder on Gravel dirt and cold
1 day ago
Red Brick Keshner on a widow's lament in an age of no flowers"
1 day ago
Red Brick Keshner on a widow's lament in an age of no flowers"
1 day ago
Stephen Gospage on a widow's lament in an age of no flowers"
1 day ago
Stephen Gospage on Gravel dirt and cold
1 day ago
Ghazala lari on a widow's lament in an age of no flowers"
1 day ago
Ghazala lari on **When Dogs Became Saints of the Street**
1 day ago
Ghazala lari on Letter from Ukraine
1 day ago