Agitation

She scrolls through deportation flights.
The lads, both lawyers, are appalled
at the brutality. They’re all agreed:
someone must stir things up, to right this wrong.

 In his Livorno tower, Shelley reads
the English newspapers, and seethes with rage.
In Manchester, a hungry crowd
armed only with the power of their cause
have been cut down by local yeomanry.

A damp, November afternoon.
The three of them have blocked the Gatwick road.
They’re chained together, lying down,
won’t let the traffic through.
Reluctant passengers will not take off.

 All government spokesmen, the Prince Regent too,
commend the valour of the loyal troops.
Someone must stir things up, to right this wrong
and Shelley grabs his pen. Within two weeks
there’s ninety stanzas which will make his name.

Authorities intensify the charge.
Aggressive trespass; public nuisance, now.
Maximum – life imprisonment.

His satire builds a world of caricature,
of gruesome villains stamping on the poor.
He got away with student blasphemy
but writing for the rabble gets you jail.

The three explain their reasoning.
Some of these migrants came as kids;
others were trafficked, slaves,
but all have families, networks of support
which will be ripped apart
in this remorseless haste.
Jamaica kills the people we send back.
The crime is hostile environment.

He’s born to write the Mask of Anarchy
but he won’t see it published. That refrain
which freedom lovers get. “No, no. Not yet.”

The prosecution don’t dispute their case;
it doesn’t interest them.
The judge insists these reasons aren’t enough
to justify the action that they took.
The jury don’t agree, and set them free.
Justice is smuggled into court.