The Zebra Hides

What is wrong with us
Yes, with you and me
That we see the truth
But still let things be

What was in our mind
When we let one walk
Were we colour blind
Or too scared to talk

PC does not mean
Truth and justice lie
Skin may set the scene
But no alibi

It cannot be rote
Race must not judge race
So a juror’s vote
Hangs on shades of face

And the system creaks
Swinging in the breeze
As new rotten sneaks
Climb down from the trees

These albino fears
Creep into our gut
Just as closure nears
And the case seems shut

Men are painted black
(It’s a point of view)
And we risk attack
For the things we do

Must all verdicts wait
For the blind to see
Justice lays in state
Slain by fool’s mercy

Nothing So Special

There is nothing so special
Needing ribbon or bow
If a child is successful
On what merits they show

There’s no label, no button
Not a banner in sight
If they work for a living
Study hard late at night

All their limbs are still present
And their brain seems to work
They are dutiful, pleasant
And ignored by the world

No, there’s really no reason
We should praise to the skies
Every triumphal season
For a sharp pair of eyes

There’s no faculty lacking
That’s obstructing their view
So no need to start clapping
When their talent shines through

If we over-encourage
Then we risk that one day
They may pluck up the courage
To feel grateful and say

That their motive for trying
To improve on their best
Was the people believing
They would rise to the test

The Ogre Next Door

The Ogre next door
Suffers from moodswings
Rattles my chain in the
Miserable mornings

The Ogre next door
Calls out greetings, repeatings
And howls at the cars on the road
Trapped in daydreams

The Ogre next door
Prone to fits and to violence
Is locked in his head
Cannot stand empty silence

The Ogre next door
Bangs on walls and on windows
And yells at his carers
And tilts at his windmills

The Ogre next door
Tries his best to be friendly
He chants on the weekend
And calls us all ‘Henry’

The Ogre next door
Is a guard and deterrent
For travelling salesmen
A neighbourhood torment

The Ogre next door
Is not always one person
Two voices, one head
Makes for odd conversation

The Ogre next door
Doesn’t lie, isn’t lazy
Just different from us
So they tell me he’s crazy