March of the Sherlockians
Strolling down the lamp-lit streets at 1am
On a freezing April night.
My best friend and I,
Armed for war:
Scissors, posters, selotape
And sticky notes and pens.
Fuelled by red bull and rebellion
That defines teenagers everywhere.
Every bus stop, phone booth
And post box for a mile up the road
Railings and pedestrian crossings
Did not escape our wrath,
Though any war cries
We uttered in the dark
Were lost amongst the hushed laughs
And curses as our hands and fingers froze.
But we were undeterred.
We walked and left a single message in our wake: