We were dancing when they came
but the four four of heavy boots put paid to that.
The chill sent us indoors to dig out what we could
for warmth. I found my uncle’s greatcoat from the war,
heavy, drab and mildewed, but double-breasted,
with brass buttons and a collar I could hide behind.
It taught me how to stoop, to shuffle and queue
like an old man suffering from damp and memory.
I patched the lining with bits of coloured rag,
embroidered words there, whatever came to me:
tomorrow, sweetheart, polka, apricot, yesterday,
and the names of friends I’ll never see again.
Sometimes I’d stand out on the corner, whip it open
like a flasher, then run for the shelter of an alley.
One night I dreamt thunder, woke to hear the city sigh,
as if a heaviness had just passed down the street.
Dead leaves scratched the pavement.
Across the yard someone tuned a fiddle.
Today we’re in the square again, dancing.
I wear the old coat inside out, sweat a fever underneath.
winner, Amnesty International Poetry Competition, 2002
in collection Living On The Difference, 2004
ISBN 1-902382-63-3, Smith/Doorstop