She watches others collect
clotting about the centre.
The crowd mostly silent
save the scuffle of boots
and chaffing overcoats.

Individuals indistinguishable
in the swaying huddle.

Baton waves
clear the assembly as quickly
as it coalesced.

Breaking bonds and
scattering pieces. Stifling
persistent calls,
“I’ve never seen one.”
Before the small, leafy
nucleus is collected.

© SF Jones, 2014

Dystopia is a poetic worldbuilding project. Each day for the next week, I will post a poem that exposes the characteristics of a fictional setting. The pieces will showcase the physical conditions and/or the emotions and interactions of the people who live there. Let your imagination run wild; I will do the same.

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