Wednesday, 14th September. 11:44pm
There is a mad man ranting up and down my street, feet
shuffling, muffled curses coming out in shrieks. What
is this ghastly, unspeakable grief? As others pass by, in
surprise, laughter, terrified meekness, what is this freak
of fairness? This anomaly of humanity? What
separates this desperately mad man from me? How
do his terrible, violent cries mean less than a baby's? He
shares a baby's fear, its bewilderment of here. What
makes this man a mockery? What stops us revering the
shock of his state? The dread of his chant? What
matters if this man must live within this rant?
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poetry by Genevieve Callaghan
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