Gloom covered your face
as you held the remaining strands
of your little doll
pressed to your chest.

I wonder if it hears your heart beating.

The muscles of your jaw tighten
your fist clenched on the tip
of the skirt of that rag around the waist,
covered in sand.

Are those lies piling on your plate?

Arms flailing, limped like stretched promises
subject for renewal
displayed on the rusty railings
of overpriced prisons
and underpriced confinements overthere

overlooking the slums,
the displaced,
the violent, barbaric, filthy slaves
over here.

If I may inquire,
Are you one of those people flooding the street,
making the world go round
and red and red and red?