street violence – Jacqueline Courtenay

A poem written by Jacqueline Courtenay

A Virus We Could See is short poem about Covid-19 pandemic and in particular the disbelief that has come with it e.g., anti-vax, anti-masks and anti-isolation sentiment. This poem questions whether these ideas and attitudes around what is clearly a deadly virus have been able to manifest as a result of the virus being invisible and poses the idea of a virus we could see. An indisputable presence, one we could see from afar and move away from. Would things then be simpler? Would we have overcome it by now.

A Virus We Could See

If Covid-19 were a virus we could see
Its fumes would have a colour
Forming a cloud that gently floats above those affected
Perhaps then we’d know where we ought to and ought not to be

If Covid-19 were a virus we could see
With, as I’ve said, a colour to it
Maybe even a slight smell to it too
Perhaps we’d all wear our masks, on this we’d agree

If Covid-19 were virus we could see 
Possibly there’d be no naysayers
Or anti-vaccinators or non-mask wearers
Who thwart the efforts of scientists and researchers in laboratories

If Covid-19 were a virus we could see
Perhaps we’d rarely go out 
And do everything possible to avoid its clear and obvious path
Dare I say, by now, from its clutch we might even be free

But that is just wishful thinking
Because even if Covid-19 were a virus we could see
Would we believe all that we hear?
From the likes of Sky, CNN and the BBC?
Mankind, I mean the ways of our human nature aren’t simple to predict or even guarantee

Unfortunately
Covid-19 isn’t a virus we can see
And like all viruses before it
It is an invisible presence
Yet whose existence, for the benefit of our existence, we must believe.

Oh but how I wish Covid-19 were a virus we could see
As terrifying as the thought might be
I’d be glad to know where it is 
So I could avoid it like the plague it truly is

-End-

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A poem written by Jacqueline Courtenay

In this poem, it is just another day in the life of a Black east Londoner who looks out of her living window to observe the mundanity of daily life. And just like any day, she notices a group young, Balaclava-clad boys running out of the local shop before dashing down the street at speed. Later on in the day, sirens punctuate the noise of school children heading home. Police tap goes up and onlookers gather. Another child has killed another child. Another family begin to grieve, and another statistic is drawn up about numbers of teenagers stabbed to death in the capital. As a mother, her heart races for these boys and all those like them, girls included, caught up in knife crime, the drug trade and gang culture. In London, knife crime with injury continues to lay bare the inequalities in society, the little value put into the young lives of inner city children and whose experiences are given a severe lack of attention from multi-disciplinary agencies in treating knife crime as a public health crisis.

‘We don’t know what to say’ is an exasperated expression of helplessness, it is a cry out to street kids, from someone who did not succumb to the pressures of road life despite growing up on a council estate in a single-parent household. Working in corporate Britain now, this Black Londoner wishes she could reach out to these children and show them another, safer way. And now, as a mother, she simply wishes for the safety of all children but doesn’t know what to say.

We Don't Know What to Say

We watch you going about your day
Not at all knowing what to say

When you’re making questionable choices
And squandering your life’s chances
As we watch, we hold our breaths
Lest we say something and get threatened to death

For in these times of plenty o’knives
We don’t know what to say

Lest we get shanked and left in a ditch
Simply because we wanted to scratch this ambitious itch
Of helping street kids get out and take an inch, at first.
Then a step out of the dark into the light.

When we gaze out our windows and watch you move, 
thoughts buzzing like do we step in and ask you to reconsider?

A different way to get by? A different way to aim high?
A different avenue to ride?
Cos watching you lot do what you do
For real man, it leaves me shook.

You’re all like little brothers to me
And I really just wanna hug ya you see and say…

Come with me
Let me show you how to live comfortably
No not swimming in cash
But when I see feds I don’t need to make a dash

We all want the best but I want the best for you
Not seeing you dead on the news.

Especially the Black ones who, aren’t often given a lifeline
For many of us it’s straight through that dirty pipeline
School to streets, to make ends meet
But soon as you’re on that beat, no sooner will you have a rap sheet

When I see feds pulling you up
My heart skips a beat.
Worried for another mother
Who may lose her son.

This ain’t just a poem, these are my everyday thoughts
as I watch you on the haunt

The whole time not knowing what to say.

-End-

Leave a comment to let me know what you think of this poem.

Thanks for reading,