Of All Colours

Angela King

Parading down the streets of Russia
in silence,
it’s 1993 and to be or not to be
is whispered from balcony to balcony,
corner shop to corner shop
and the husky has chewed the newspaper.
He’s ripped the headlines to shreds
and the woman, in a multi-coloured bobble hat, she sits on a bench.
Fingers trembling, she threads.
Like a natural, she tosses Sunday 21st March to the side,
as now, like never before, she has absolutely nothing to hide.
She weaves in and out on the flimsy, grey print-outs,
line after line, spilling world-wide emotions,
gripping the pens of all pretentious journalists
and capping them for good.
Pages and pages of feeling, bled from the woman’s fingertips,
begin to pile on her front doorstep.
So much that she’s having to
       step in painful high-heels
to reach for the multi-coloured bobble hat
that makes her hair smile from end to end.
In a fortnight, she runs out of thread.
As the last knot is tied, the bureaucrats take to their beds.
Flying through the poorly lamp-lit streets,
she hurls the edited newspapers at pavements’ feet.
She posts some through letterboxes, even at the
barking doors that never seem to sleep.
She plasters them to popular shop windows
and flings the last of them into the sombre evening.
Headlines later and hand in hand,
two women in multi-coloured bobble hats
parade the streets of Russia,
causing pandemonium, with none left to spare.