Remembering Peter

I’m at Charing cross, in August
On a Saturday morning, before ten

In a coach, packed with strangers
To celebrate a live performance
Of a teenagers death

We have no destination
Just the open road
And an appointment
For high noon

The architecture, offers no clues
Just concrete tunnels
And singular abstracts

Its too early to be vocal
But inside, curiosity is waking
We all feel, a secret excitement

Suddenly the buildings fall, from ruin
Into large car parks
And low level stores

The clouds are threatening
To punch us, with dreariness
Though we appear to be running
To a better front

Every industrial site, comes into contention
Until our tourist bus
Pulls into a business park
In Plumstead

We gather near a chained guard dog
And a tired car dealership
Remarking on the realism
As workers go about, their livelihoods

The stage has guards, pacing
In military step
With low slung arms
Ready to be dangerous

A wall, with barbed wire fencing
Has been tested for sharpness

I hear encouragement to roam
But the morbidity
Is leaving the lenses
To the leg work

I have never paid tribute
In such a subdued fashion

Its warming to see
Such a display of heart
In a world, I feel has gone cold
On the preciousness of life
Its satisfying to remember
Such an ordinary person

A brief shower, puts a man
Under a pink umbrella
And draws a scowl
From a bored officer

The Americans are lighting up
While the camera in front of me
Is threatening to roll

The sun has broken back
It wont be suppressed
Like poor Peter

A child before my time
Who’s reality is not

The play started with a bang
Plastic caps, littering the floor
One escaped, to leave the other
Blood stained and quivering

The red graffiti, is like a final testament
I feel like a voyeur, a silent witness
To an old tragedy

The volunteers passion, pricks my conscience
Why indeed did the boy have to be lifeless
Before being liberated, from his attempt

The guards faces, had guilt
Except the leader
Who would have made
Hitler proud

After losing the body
It was back to positions
The claret, part of the uniform

The Americans waved us on
With nothing more, to watch

18/08/07