Green painted faces
march down Main Street
tossing Molotov cocktails
through plate glass windows.
They’ve got screeds on placards
and chants that can be heard
over the screaming fire sirens,
oblivious to rubber bullets, pepper
spray and common sense.
They are too filled with rage
to realize that this isn’t what
the Good Doctor meant when he said
to burn your enemies with your words.
Author notes
Watching the G4 protests got me thinking about the LA riots of the 90s. I had recently read Parable of the Sower by Octavia Butler, and combining those influences made me think about how counterproductive most demonstrations end up, as the idealism that started it turns into blind violence. This poem was the result.
Adding your comment: