Robert Peel Statue

Robert,

Take my hand,

Step down from that cold stone,

And walk with me a while.

Take off those heavy boots,

Rooted deep in a past

And step along these

New wet streets in another pair of shoes

With other worn feet.

What would you say?

About how different things are,

How much has changed.

And what you believed in way back when,

You left this place

And set off to rule the world.

Perhaps leaving here made you?

And returning, feels a little like shame

As the place has become something you no longer understand.

Prime Minister, and leader.

Freed the children from the factories

You saw the problems, and had to act,

So created the police,

With the principle of consent.

“Peelian”- you, as adjective, and loaded with meaning.

Did you imagine then,

that in other times,

And places

Those bobbies on the beat,

Would be feared,

Or reviled,

And sometimes hated?

Or that something that started here

Would,

In a place not a million miles away

Became a knee on a neck,

And death,

And death and,

A breath

Denied?

Would that stern look crack?

And a reasonable voice ask

“Why?”

and

“What is to be done?”

And

“When?”

The faces are looking to you and yours,

As you walk back to that plinth,

Deep in thought.

Sit a while longer and wait,

Perhaps don’t ascend back into your historic place

But leave it empty

For now.

Statues everywhere are coming down.

Listen and you can hear the sound.

It is change, and it is loud.