And Finally by Bethany Rivers

I am not a silent poet

……………………….last night I did it.
Although I’m now sitting
in a cell in this stinking jail

of sweat and fear, I’m grinning.
I stole in to the private rooms
in Westminster and I graffitied

on every wall and every mirror
the names of all the benefit suicides.
I prit-sticked photos to MPs’ desks,

sellotaped them on plush seated chairs.
I then confettied the Speaking House
with photos of Aunt Beryl (put her head

in the oven), odd-job-man-Billy always
ready with a smile (took an overdose)
young Sally (mother of twins) hung herself,

stuck them down with chewing gum
along the central aisle,
all the way to the Speaker’s chair.

I painted dripping scarlet words
across the wooden panels:
Suicide is Murder, posted on the quiet.

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