When they’re not rioting, 
not fighting, not peacocking,
not hating, not hurting,
what do racists even do
in Belfast?

Do they hate over biscuits?
Do they fixate over fags – vapes –
do they seethe over pasta bakes, Pot Noodles,
do they kindle over chip shop chips
as they pour vinegar,
sprinkle salt? 

Do they spill over Sunday potatoes like unwatched pots -
do they hate, ear-numbed, 
dead-eyed, over morning tea?

Is life just a long, long wait to throw stones, 
throw bottles,
to set fire to houses, rip up paving —
to play at Hercules — to make petrol bombs,
to bully nurses?

To spit at difference
and live forever small, forever careless,
save for the odd ire pocket 
that flares like a firework, 
then dies — just as fast?

Natalia Gameson is a poet from the West Midlands. Her work explores the small, everyday behaviours underpinning bigger news narratives. This is her first published poem.
Poetry submissions to [email protected]