The Writing is on the Wall
By Derek Webster (as read by me, psp)
The graffiti eraser in Montreal
blasts the red brick wall with water,
removing Vive le Québec libre.
Earlier this week he scrubbed off fugg it
and baise-moi, stencils of tanks and skulls
A few fat dicks, one whore, sixteen illegible tags
three anglo go home and a dozen amour.
He applies milky soap to one-eyed feelings,
the mad skilz and torqued hate
learned in school or bar. Strayed against
the all, explodes into pictures:
a palm tree in a a Lotto Max sky -
Bob Marley’s smiling, dreadlocked head -
fireworks on la féte du monde - au nationale
something to fear. The generator cuts
and a secular silence falls on the moment in civik manner
Slicker open, the man smokes his vape
as toxins leach from the wall
and the words fade, almost disappear
But what does it matter? They will return.
A thing notwithstanding is always here
- Derek Webster (as read by me, psp)
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