A letter to rioters

Your hands killed history last night.
They beat it, burgled it, burnt it.
Stole more than just a few dvds, tvs and i-whatevers.
Those buildings, those memories - they didn't belong to you.
But you've taken them.
And we're angry.
It's us against you now and you against them.
Muddying the idea, confusing the cause,
Forcing us to ask questions -
Where were the police? What now for us? Where was the government? Will this happen again?
- when there should only be one:
Why is Mark Duggan dead?
But it's all about you lot now.
We saw you tearing it up in your hoods and masks.
Destroying, drunk on greed.
Fires and fights flickered across our screens
As suited and booted read the ten o'clock.
We huddled in our houses
Clutching mugs with nervous hands
Until sirens grew louder
Smoke got thicker
Footsteps came closer
And your wolves were at the door
Carrying makeshift missiles
And bags of stolen trainers.