Crashed

I see you pass by in the crowd with banners walking down Pine Street, a mix of workers, activists and students shouting «Jail ’em, don’t bail ’em», the march moves across Wall Street up to the AIG building and the neighboring Bank of America, where barricades and dozens of police are waiting, «Jail ’em, don’t bail ’em», I look for you in the ever-angrier chorus, «Jail ’em, don’t bail ’em», the chorus is so loud that the suits above peer out their windows and look down in fear, they see a young woman grab a megaphone and rail in her own sweet way against the bank bailout, and when I hear your voice my heart leaps up, and I leap and fl oat up to the front just as you lower the loudspeaker and the barricades come down, everyone scrambles and the beatings begin, I sidestep one two three bodies but can't fi nd you, I desperately look for you till I feel a blow on the back of my head, till I fall and see the megaphone lying on the ground among the scrambling feet, the warm blood runs down my back and I can just see the AIG logo on the door...