Walking down past
The Parliament buildings;
Riding past Hero’s square
In an open topped bus,
Under the watchful eye
Of Archangel Michael;
Buying tickets for the hot subway
And having to get off at the first stop
Because we were headed the wrong way;
Strolling Along the Danube
But then stopping to cry
At the bronze monument of shoes
That brought the past
Marching menacingly back
Into the disbelieving now.