Occupy London

“Answer your phone John. The baby's crying John and I'm drunk.

“I'm watching those pretty young faces standing together with their tents on the steps of St. Paul's. They're staying. They know why they're there.

“The baby's always crying, like he knows. You don't see it in the car, at work, on the ring road. You don't go to the shops. I take the baby to the park and there are people younger than us red rough-faced drunk at nine in the morning. The shops are closing.

“When your job goes, what'll we do? When we found out we weren't going to change the world we had your baby instead, didn't we?

“I think you were glad just to work so we didn't have to grow anymore. You took to this like a path through the wilderness you'd always known about but didn't want to let on.

“I want to leave and escape. At least the protesters speak to each other. The baby's crying and you're not here and they've closed St. Paul's and we're lost and in the wrong place.

“I want to fight but the only person I can fight is you.

I can't stay John.”