John Dunn

Glass is such a potent symbol of division. In reality, it is a state of mind. 'Brittle crystal, that’s all it is.' Or is that still the case? This was written before internet shopping had taken hold. The glass in question now is the screen at which you stare. The era of window gazing has gone. You now have company tokens to spend at the company store.













Brittle crystal, that’s all it is

Glaziers came to reinsert the glass,
Between the goods produced and the producer class
That had released a labour crystallised,
Reclaiming their dead materialised;
And in doing so found a new wisdom
In a release that went far beyond freedom.

That August night the shops were open late,
No locked door was protected by the state.
The labour that lay frozen, petrified,
Was released from the fetish deified,
Like so many waking wives of Lot,
Or victims the Midas touch forgot.

The disillusioned dead rose up at night,
Reclaiming the greed that encouraged the fight
Waged by their offspring for their own Spring.
‘Brittle crystal, that’s all it is. Now fling
Your bricks into the pane and dare to reach in,
You have chains to lose and a world to win.’

The lumpen knew more than you ever will;
Stuff your shock and disgust, I’m with them still.
There’s nothing here that I’m too proud to shred,
Keep your board reports and the papers I dread,
And do preserve me from the parting speech
Until I’m well beyond the glaziers’ reach.

© John Dunn.