Are You Worried About Yourself?

an illegal cigarette. Was he ex-army?
Talk to the daughter, she's
the one who'll know: 'He never hurt me'.

There's the panic alarm, the chase,
yellow metal, never-ending sirens
calling to us, calling through green tunnels,
tiles, streets. The only respite,
to sleep like a child in a blanket,
sort through drawers, history, meaning.

Tell the press who's got the motive,
wrong place, wrong time, what happens
when you arrest someone.

Perhaps you need a little bit
of distance: please, try to remember.

So, we got the wrong man, flowers won't do
any good this time. 'The bastard deserved it.'

Let's say this isn't justice. An error of judgement,
if it's corrupt? Do we have something
to hide, this time?

Other poems from 'Ash is Here, So are Stars'

Embedded Dreams

Reviews of 'Ash is Here, So are Stars'

A. Frances Johnson in Cordite Poetry Review
Lucy Alexander in Verity La
(And also see) Ali Alizadah's 'Best of 2012: The top 10 poetic works' in Overland

Other poems by Jill Jones

This is Friday high up
The eclipse
Palm and rope


A conversation with Jill Jones