by Nick Gisburne
Sedition steers the traffic with a ruse:
Encrypted codes, corrupting every car.
A swarm of mad, magnetic motors cruise
At speed towards the city’s Central Star.
Computers quickly synchronise their horns
To play an anthem censored by the state,
And every cabin console wakes and warns
The occupants, astonished, of the date.
Another year of mindless martial law,
Designed to help the helpless disappear,
Is doggedly resisted. Every flaw
Exploited, without mercy, without fear.
As each new car or cruiser joins the jam,
Its presence sends a statement: “Here I am.”
