That tune in my head again - “Golliwogg's Cake-walk”.
Marching men and machines to the horizon.
Beams of sunlight flicker off the brass.
Dour politicians, inflated by loathing, drink-in their might - their generous expense.
Turning down a side street,
Where cafés, ranged empty like theatres in mourning, await -
Their lone monochrome waiters humming, tapping feet.
Eyes follow me as I am quietly detained.
Collapsing in again...
Looking across my cell: Six feet.
A chink of tortured light arrives from nowhere.
Same year, same concrete.
Same Nile Delta stain weeping down the ghost-graffitied wall.