Power-Play
We feel anguished.
We feel helpless.
We are as helpless
as we feel.
And the ones with power
they feel nothing.
The ones with the power to stop the killing
and the ones with the power to kill,
they feel nothing.
Jacko I saw him flapping around in the grass, one wing at an improbable angle. I chased him, caught him, wrapped him carefully in my cerise and navy school scarf. Jack, jack, jacko.. Then it was a bus ride to the charity vet who set the broken wing, wrapped it carefully in plaster, a heavy pot. He was subdued on the bus home, but still managed to greet my mother, Jack, jack, jacko. He perked up later after tea and explored the living room placing bits of straw artistically and decorating them with pooh. Which was why he had to live at school, home only for weekends. Jack, jack jacko! But he enjoyed bus journeys now and greeted all the passengers, hopping from shoulder to shoulder, waking them up with a wang from his pot, nibbling an ear here and a nostril there. Most were charmed, but some were not. He was close to becoming the only jackdaw to be banned from public transport. Jack, jack, jacko!! And then disaster! the wing ha...
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