Silence Sits Better by Roberta Francis


Sometimes I can’t see it coming, but It's still there.
It tugs my hand on the street and watches.
It’s a silence. A grating glance from
A Caliban that cuts the sun in two
And covers me in shadow.

This time outside the Wetherspoon's
The monsters looked past my fluidity to the
Little man with the silver beard,
Carrying a folded paperback and
Wearing  sandals.
His companion is taller, and they look so out of place
In this, murky, dark, London Street.
There’s a line of coats,
Ten stiff green bottles snorting about the weather,
The football and another cancelled bus.
Their top-dog, a haystack of a man, hugs his leather coat
And the word queer slips from his lips.
The man with the silver beard looks scared and I am too.
It could all ignite in a second.
Discretely I stare at the haystack and his long drooping moustache.
It sparkles under the moonlight now the Sun has gone
I wish I could tear it from his lips
But sometimes silence sits better.

Roberta Francis is a graduate of the MA in Creative Writing at the Open University.  She is a spoken word poet/novelist and is currently finishing her first novel. She has been published in the York Literary Review, Spontaneous Poetics, Off The Coast, and Spoken Word Anti-Hate Anthology.

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