by Michael Conley
Below on the street, the people wearing balaclavas are shouting that nobody ever listens to them. They’ve thought of a simple shape and are painting it on many surfaces.
The people wearing rubber masks of historical figures are leaning against doorframes and shouting back, Of course nobody ever listens to you. It’s because what you say is so stupid that it can be reduced to a simple shape.
Whenever the people wearing balaclavas shout a slogan, the people wearing rubber masks of historical figures sarcastically correct the grammar. This only makes the people wearing balaclavas shout louder.
Sometimes, the people wearing conspicuous symbols of religious faith, the people wearing the colours of their local sports team, the people wearing no underpants, secretly, the people wearing fedoras at a jaunty angle, the people wearing very new, very white trainers, the people wearing t-shirts trivialising sexual assault, the people wearing the traditional garments of their homeland, the people wearing vivid green silk pyjamas and even the people wearing the inherited clothing of their dead aunts and uncles join in with the shouting.
The only ones who never get involved are the people wearing expensive suits, who remain in their high-rise apartments, silently high-fiving and taking all the most exhilarating drugs.
Michael Conley is a poet from Manchester who occasionally writes flash fiction too.