By Jem Bauermeister
Ignorance is bliss
We’re not used to this heat.
Spring trees still as pink as our skin.
Sunburned limbs spread over St Matthew’s Garden.
The same grass that we avoid at 7am in the winter.
When skeletal strangers shoot up under the brow of the church.
Frowning blue uniforms with blue gloves stop and search.
Posters, incense and steel drums outside Iceland.
Cardboard signs, shaking cups and preachers offer redemption.
It’s lazy to think this is the sum total of Brixton.
The green is disguised as a festival picnic.
Loudspeaker voices and drum sounds in the air.
Too far to hear the words, some too drunk to care.
Protesters are shouting for their rights at Windrush square.
“Oh, is that what it is?”
Powerful figures spout estimated figures live on a screen.
Wikipedia cut and paste ignorance feeding the farce.
All we know is what our thumbs can be bothered to ask.
70 years since the ship arrived.
70 years since April saw a heatwave like this.
The caribbean sun followed then and it’s back to remind us.
People are being told to go home when they’re already there.
I’m here to learn. But I haven’t been asking enough questions.