John Who Wears Black

By | 8 June 2020

12th June 2019, Admiralty, Hong Kong

protests alongside ten thousand youths now called rioters now reduced to statistics
disregarded by the one in power the dowager who holes up in the golden
interior of her palace

her yellow curtains her white couture her private prison she dares not step out into
the light which burns her skin to the streets where people whisper murmur pronounce
their rage

each sparked each cradling a little hope that the second week of June
2047 will not be as red-sinister as what everyone has just lived through

so much growing-up is forced upon the young in the seven days of rain thunder
the manmade mist which makes eyes tear and the sun scalding their cheeks their necks
their sweat-soaked shirts

stuck on their backs but that’s okay because now they hoist umbrellas enduring
the facemasks and goggles not minding the dirt on their names chanting
what is right is right

until the police lunge at them with long shields and batons and while on the move
John hands over his umbrella and helmet to the also-running reporter

the teargassed cameraman holds fast and films a master shot of humans being human
this stripped-down kindness is the light the heat the verve which moves me moves you
moves whoever is watching

this city needs John who grasps Jane’s hand and turns back for Jason and his friends
and behind them two million flames

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