Thought Police

It dives fleetingly, bright footprints behind it,
Into the darkest of alleyways, praying that perhaps
Here it shall not be found.
Such succour is brief, the alleyway is lit,
And it hurtles on, the shouts behind it echoing
Their anger all around.

A cab pulls up by the lights, the driver drowsy.
The thing leaps through the window, glass smashing
Onto the seat.
The driver, instantly alive with a smile and a wink,
Floors it, the car roars onwards, the light now green,
Brightening the street.

Behind the cab, now swaying with joyous laughter,
The squad car skids out from a darkened road,
And gives chase.
In the back of the cab, the thing moans, the joy
That it gives shining through and making it impossible
To hide its face.

The thing leaps, another window smashes,
The suddenly dour driver slams on the brakes to come
To a stop.
The police climb out and run after the bright thing,
Leaving glowing footprints in the darkness where
Its feet drop.

It takes a wrong turn, something that before
Would never have been a problem. But the exterminators
Are here.
They enclose it, drag it away, screaming, just knowing
That in the clutches of these police it has something
To fear.

Destroyed, dissected, cast out as something that might
Once have been a useful member of society, but is now
Diseased.
The police in this mind have done their deeds well,
And the brightness of love no longer glows, instead
Merely bleeds.