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

Was attacked.

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: