London's Burning

A cyclist passes me as I smoke outside in the silence.
As I stand in this town,
Removed,
Cars and shops burn fierce oranges
as 'hooded youths' claim the streets of London.

Hooded youths.
As if another species.
To label something is to know it completely,
To be able to solve a problem.

These are not terrorists or gangsters,
They are kids.
Our kids.
Hackney, Croydon streets fall to flames and cries.
Now to Birmingham,
Bristol.

'Economic climate, unemployment, recession' they say.
These kids have no political agenda,
No manifesto.
Few people can look another in the eye and say they've never dreamt of watching the world burn.

The smoke curls into the inky night.
I can feel the rage burning in their hearts,
As i can feel the sweat on the palms of Parliament.
London's burning.