I dreamt anger last night,
woke late to the strangest feeling,
one I can’t recollect dreaming before.
Perhaps I have but don’t recall.
I’ve dreamt so many allsorts, remembered and not.
But to wake in anger,
disoriented, wondering why I felt so peculiar, was odd,
seeing the pictures flood back as spoon filled coffee cup,
pausing as steam turned its contents black,
visions in the molten awakener, of
one person attempting to bully
a whole crowd of grown-ups,
young and old but all compromised by power,
held hostage to her whims,
immobilised by fear.
I snapped several times, went against the pack,
refused to cooperate with petty injustice,
got right in her face and snarled,
‘They all hate you, you know.
It doesn’t have to be this way.’
She turned slit eyes on me, red and fierce
and spat, ‘ I despise you all’.
My parting shots,
witnessed askance by all, became
full of heat and promises
of just retribution.
She mouthed, ‘I’ll lie.’
I knew she would.