Undergrounders

Lost, they seemed like neighbours

Sometimes odd in manner, yet

We saw them as sharing in our mix

Of foibles and humours.

What did they hope for, here?

Suspending all their visions

And locking safety away

To fall asleep in a world not their own

Lit by the rude incandescent

Grey with sameness and waste.

What did they think of us, then?

As they strove to eat as we ate

To test the waters for their ideals

And, sensing rebuff,

To secure the lines of escape.

Even today, I cannot comprehend

The disappointment of four centuries,

And as many awakenings;

Nor the abiding hope

That saw them living among us

Only to be chased down sewers

By the latest elite in soldiering.

Once off, I admired their masks

Relics to be auctioned now that

They’d fled deeper than Onkalo

Below their barricades.

 

Elizabeth Cook, 2016