Mark This Space

Daily you pass us. In your black cabs and buses. You pass but you see nothing at all. Just an innocent side street, but the nearby name hints of our plight. Red Cross way. We are in need of assistance. Under your tunnels and bright lights. Like rats in a big city, we are closer than you think. There are thousands of us, and we have always been with you. We are your unwanted, a landfill of human lives. We are the ones you throw away. We are filth. Debased and devalued we are condemned to decay. Remember You put us here.

Quicklime and shallow pit, do we swallow or should we spit? We are ‘single’ women, unclean, used up and discarded. Our foetuses littered around us like so much discharge and debris. We are the lowly, the paupers, the criminals, the sick and insane. Beyond the pale we are at the ‘liberty of the clink’. Out here in the ‘stew’, with the actors and lice, animal baiters and vice.

Like a dirty stain you cannot wash away we rise to the surface now and again. A mirror to your ugliness. We interrupt your plans for transport expansion; we hold ground too unclean to be used for anything else. For hundreds of years we wait in our collective grave. Waiting for you to recognise us. Banners and beads appear as though self generating, they rot and are renewed. The tributes grow. No one sees who brings them. Messages and ribbons bearing names, dates, tied to a railing they decorate a waste ground. And some of you, you observe a vigil. While we wait to be redeemed.
Mark this space.

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