Walk on, citizen, walk on
And while I drive by in one of these wonderful vehicles of communal transportation
I see barriers and I see cops dressed for the third world war
protecting a fountain and a hilly square
where migrants had protested in the cold open
until they decided to stop taking any fluid
as to protest their incarceration in the name of illegal immigration
under conditions unbearable to the pioneer
who came for a better life in safety and an open sphere of possibilities
The ministry of interior could not calm the temptation
to bust them in full force and two hundred strong
bring protest from the square back to incarceration
All clean all empty all fenced now
and I drive by in one of these wonderful vehicles of communal transportation
and shout at those men dressed for another class war
that shame is on them
and their upholding of an order
of walk on walk on
and there is nothing to see
Consume collect inflict and thereby be
walk on walk on
the dark side is not here for you to see
walk on walk on
or meet the force of temptation
to quell you into moderation
walk on walk on
there is nothing left to see
be
calm
and
blind
There is a mistake in this poem. There weren’t 200 men in uniform, there where 500 who surrounded and moved in in the early hours of the evening. Some of the protesters fled into the trees. The last was shaken from his tree the following morning. Promises were made.