Lights, camera, bloody action.
Dark faces mistakenly victimised,
To drugs, lies and stereotypes.
His children aimlessly loiter a sixties project.
An aftermath bolts before its war-horse,
Broad-sheets drag themselves through the gutter,
As lightweight reaction populates its clutter.
Root cause lucidly skirted,
They leave a semi-orphaned community,
Coveting their premature latchkey.
Led backward by the mid-century architect.
Urban urchins stalk the rat runs in his wake,
Abandoned by helpless guardians.
Showmanship runs riot…” The cameras are coming!”
Their acts portrayed for peak-time view,
Leaving the marsh folk shell-shocked and through.
A reflection of the Marsh Farm riots in Luton, England during the summer of ’95.