Friday began the moanfest From the delightful “he” number one
A concert he didn’t want was coming to town.
The other he, was excited he loves to sing
And dance weirdly to any music
He loves the atmosphere of a live concert.
Saturday moanie moan set off
All the way to the capital
Such a long way to The Pale.
Sunday he moaned about the train
Full of children going to a concert
The same one he was travelling to.
The other he, got up and danced
To the tunes of the young American
And ignored the girl children on the train.
Another concert in another town
And I remembered the girl childs
No longer screaming the words of songs.
Wailing, screaming in the violent times
The city that rocks determined to stand
The kindness of strangers pervade.
My city will not cower or hide
In my city the people will rise
On a flood of lovingkindness.
The tragedy has floored “he” number one
As he realises it could have been his town
And the girl-children on his journey.
My city, the world is determined not
To be defined as hostages of fear,
In a disconnected disassembled life.
My city rose not in anger or fear
It offered beds, food and drink
To the stranded and lost.
My city loves you see, there is
No judgement in Manchester
Only love, pure love. His love.