Ben Barton
Magpie In Tiananmen Square
I look around
it doesn’t feel that long ago,
1989
eighteen years on and still
the portrait eyes of Mao
shine on the distance
surrounded by the khaki
of his republic grandsons
above a lonely aviator
the magpie
commands the surly air
Imperial-faced
at 9am
it swoops above amongst the cloth-kites
secured with twine
to the tinkering fingers of young girls
giggling
on those cold, grey slabs
imbibed with tank oil
and the blood of countless sons
Like a pendulum over our heads
the magpie arcs and glides
He settles on the obelisk, solus
a hero of the people
the one for sorrow, bird of joy
He is today’s unknown rebel,
surrounded by wan marbles
and dim concrete
I feel the Guide tap my shoulder
and he offers the smallest knowing smile,
as much as he’s allowed to give
“No bad omen in China” he assures me
“Here the magpie is lucky”
I look around
it doesn’t feel that long ago,
1989
Then he lifts up the red flag
a signal to us
To keep moving on
orderly
in line.
The Bund
In the folds of her arms she grips postcards
and rushes toward me
screeching
desperate for me to buy
Her limbs rounded off, stumps
cheeks dimpled
with traces of an acid burn
There’s one for every skyscraper –
two dozen thalidomide beggars
rags bursting with paper wares
It’s an endurance test, walking through
a state visit
as they surround me, following
a new pied piper
In time their resolve fails
and they shuffle off, mulish
Hands in my pockets,
they let me pass
I leave them there –
two dozen thalidomide beggars
reflected in those silty waters
at the land’s edge
One for every skyscraper.
LCD
the nurses walk along the aisles
No one’s looking
but they swing their hips anyway
The ward dark,
nothing to see but those crisp uniforms
dancing
in the flicker
of a dozen lcds
Cadaverine Magazine 2009
