Which was March 17th. 1968, but call it winter

the rider turned his horse
vaguely sternly
and then mean extravagant
he started his return.

no straight and narrow path
but the freedom
the soft yoke
of havoc.

no malice or sadism
but the joy
fulfilment
of cold destruction
hurtful

he did not wish a victim
as he swung round
and started to hunt
moving as a lion begins its kill.

the way the pattern singled out its course
two girls like gauche grazers
began to feel isolated
outlined
singular
in too much space

they moved to change
- this awareness that they stood
in the unfolding pattern
as victims -
they moved as cattle begin to move.

fate focused
the pattern fixed

- that they are alive today is luck
and not your bourgeois nonsense
'bout the serve and protect police
what nonsense you can speak -

as I saw things unfold
it rolled
the horse upon them
their run into a fall
- one outwards, one forwards -
the horse over fallen body
- at a canter -
horse's legs and hooves
in movement
- only a camera could ever say -
but flurry
fury over body
hoofs in that beautiful bent rise
- that I saw -
hooked like saplings.
flurry along the back
and where is the egg-shell skull

I became part of that image
an actor
as fury ground the instant
into a scream of outrage
I was not watching.
I was flowing too
into lion
and for no reason but to flow
pursuing
- you don't like heroes do you
that's just penis envy
and testosterone can groove -

yes I said I saw
the girl trampled under hoof.
no
I saw no woman trampled.
then why did I say so
I said what I thought I saw

now why trampled
because the instant
was an instant
and in the instant
that is what I saw

I say
I saw
my words
I called it
as I saw it
- were the hooves on her back or not
would I have seen different -

why say trampled under hoof
to say what I saw

but why do you create such a commotion
it feels like you're always down after my balls
are you a jealous frozen old lady dear
fighting to maintain your portion
of the pie

and why do you deny
the blood outside your door
Mrs. East India Company
and the death and despoliation
it couldn't be guilt now
could it

(When I told Caroline about my day at the demonstration, she challenged my use of the word trampled. I got defensive, and I'm still not sure about, even till today, the nice usage of the word and whether I was right to use it.)