Mornings by a calm riverside 

Are blurred by tear gas,

Pushed out of the mind

By the sheen of black boots

–

The notes of a guitar

Are drowned in the surf of humanity

Out to mend, to maim

To revolt

–

The softness of shelter

Turns to sweltering pavement,

To welts and cuffed hands

And tear blinded eyes

–

The sweet familiar fragrances

Pouring from a kitchen,

Waft out of a memory

And take to the streets