Distanced through monochrome,
rendered grey-scale, newsprint,
without the pink of nails, palms, lips,
the cat-green and warm brown of eyes,
the mustard-ochre of baby-poo
the blue of a university sweat-shirt
the scarlet spurt from a wound
or rust-red drying menstrual blood.
You are black-and-white
like suffragettes under arrest,
trench warfare, Martin Luther King
and JFK, safely in the time-before,
already dead or old, fixed in a history
which we canít be expected to change.
If you have any thoughts on this poem, Maggie Butt
would be pleased to hear them.