Whither Hong Kong? / September 2014 (Issue 25)


by Marco Yan

Since 97
we have been fed
little by little

by force, like it
has been added
to the water we drink,
eight glasses a day.

Unaware of how
our bodies change,
how we are made
docile, like dogs

promised bones,
we keep quiet.
And they believe
they own the totality of us.

Today, our young
occupy the streets
in the dead center
of this mystic city,

arms raised for truth,
an illusion
too thin for light
as police approach.

After pepper spray,
shields and tear gas,
they aim and shoot,
not to hurt, or kill

but to check if the blood
of a college freshman
is red enough
or can be redder.
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ISSN 1999-5032
All poems, stories and other contributions copyright to their respective authors unless otherwise noted.