Thursday, 10 November 2011


28th October 2011

White slab on the doormat, postmark,
a familiar china blue – the forfeit
of dignity in monthly increments -
and I’m sick to my stomach, again;
And on TV – Occupy Wall Street –
as though greed were a discovery,
injustice, a shiny toy or the new Black.

I’ve been in my foxhole for three years now,
dug in behind enemy lies - terraced walls, 
the polite exterior of war - wrestling
the slick of their machinery, bare hands ink
bloodied in daily skirmishes with quick-sand      
bureaucracy – and you, with the placard,
the ironic slogan, where the f**k were you?

© Angela T Carr

Occupy protesters plan 300-mile march from NYC to Washington
Angela has been published in an anthology and literary magazines, and Commended in this year’s Patrick Kavanagh Award. She is based at the Irish Writers Centre in Dublin.