days of thunder
Stuck in a traffic jam in Dublin for half an hour with Serafina.
We turned onto O'Connell Street.
The cause of the jam became clear.
A little knot of Arabs standing in the middle of the street.
Maybe about a hundred and fifty of them.
With their silly little little flags.
And their: "End the occupation of Gaza."
And their shoes ready for throwing.
And all that jazz.
I let out a long low sigh.
Serafina wound down her window.
She has no fear that girl.
"What do they want?" she mused. "Is it about Israel?"
I shook my head.
"This isn't about Israel," I said softly. "It's about us. The Arabs are letting us know they're here."
We turned onto O'Connell Street.
The cause of the jam became clear.
A little knot of Arabs standing in the middle of the street.
Maybe about a hundred and fifty of them.
With their silly little little flags.
And their: "End the occupation of Gaza."
And their shoes ready for throwing.
And all that jazz.
I let out a long low sigh.
Serafina wound down her window.
She has no fear that girl.
"What do they want?" she mused. "Is it about Israel?"
I shook my head.
"This isn't about Israel," I said softly. "It's about us. The Arabs are letting us know they're here."
posted by heelers | 10:32 PM
2 Comments:
My badness is showing. I saw a photo of protesting Muslims blocking Picadilly or somesuch street, all down and praying.
The first thought that came to me was: This would be a perfect time to kick one in the pants. Or set off a whole row of "hot feet".
-Jean
MissJ, I think if I'd lived through World War Two, I'd have ended up hating forever a whole lot of people I love now. In my heart of hearts, and in my most modest moments, I know the next generation of Arabs are going to want to teach their children my poetry. This helps me to preserve a measured attitude to them in the darkest of times. That is to say, in the times we're living through now.
J
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