Uniform by Sean Broadhurst

Every morning we were commanded
by the clang of a brass bell to fall in line
with the discipline of pint-sized soldiers.

They taught us that one early, hammered
home the importance of standing in the order
dictated by our surnames, as they called the register.

Once accounted for,
we were marched
inside and led to assembly.

We’d start the school day with the Lord’s
prayer and, to the twang of Mrs Morrow’s
guitar, we’d sing his praise in a collective drone.

On Fridays, before they let us loose
we had to write messages
to God on paper leaves.

We’d stick them to the ‘Here I Am’ tree
and sign them with our Christian names but
never learned to who those names belonged.

Gravity by Sean Broadhurst

In science we learned about Gravity;
a force that pulls everything down.

They mustn’t have taught Physics in Eton,
giving precedence to the laws of depravity.
Teaching instead how to grind the many into the dirt, and conserve their own
privilege, through dead end education; how to sweeten
the deal with a touch of forlorn hope, work hard enough and perhaps you will join the bourgeoisie.

They don’t believe the law applies to them.  They’ve never considered they could be pulled down.
But you believe in gravity, everything can pulled down, they can be beaten.