I see you copper – hassling an 80 year old protesting a private company knocking down a tree that was planted as a war memorial,
and I see you copper – holding the hand of an old woman collapsed in the streets and you’re reasurring her until an ambulance arrives.
I see you copper – breaking windows and destroying travellers’ homes
for no readily discernable reason,
and I see you copper helping the people of Grenfell to safety when their homes were burning.
I see you copper – “Stop and Search” on young black lads because … they’re young and black,
and I see you copper dancing with those same kids during carnival.
I see you copper leaving “well alone” when Savile tells you “we’re waiting until midnight as she’ll be 16 then“,
and I see you copper in tears when the victims of rape gangs and child abuse are giving evidence in court.
I see you copper cavalry charging the miners on the picket line,
wading into ’em to teach them a lesson.
I see you copper as you put bullets into Jean Charles de Menezes
when you misidentified him as a terrorist,
and I see you copper as you lie face up in the road outside the Libyan Embassy with life leaking out of your young body.
I see you copper at the Leppings Lane end hitting the hands of those trying to get climb to safety out of the crush of bodies,
and I see you copper with hands, arms and hair burnt as you helped the victims of the Bradford City fire escape with their lives.
Je vous vois flic alors que vous vous échangez contre un otage sachant que cela pourrait vous coûter la vie.
(I see you copper when you readily exchange yourself for a hostage knowing that it could cost you your life.)
I see you copper; but I do not understand you.
Dedicated to the Arnaud Beltrame, Yvonne Fletcher, Keith Palmer