We traverse the streets; tight
and certain. Bypassing waves of feet
which trudge on, sullen shadows.

You realise first; right
ahead entry looms. Bringing broods of fake
smiles, capturing pornographic self-worth.

I follow behind; sight
obscured by swarming swathes
of those who steal and covet and corrupt.

We gleefully sneer; delight
in beliefs of 'what are they
thinking?' At least just before

They turn our heads; blight
Such preconceived notions of grandeur
And aplomb. Now left to

No-one; empty and contrite.
Cultivated by sycophantic selfies which deface and soil, we duly conform and

All look up; into burning bright
Of skies soon overcast. We urge
It now, to finally get our turn. It's about time.