There I stood,
early in The fall,
Cornered on this:

The white Man walking
signals cross,
Whilst the red hand
Stops my steps.

This crosswalk
Calls up my thoughts,
In essence, a certain
Reminiscence,
A concerning
Recurring instance.

Was this not
How an empire rose?
Flourishing until,
Red, white, and bruised,
It must inevitably
collapse and corrode?

This is an ordinary corner,
But it talks
from the other side of the sidewalk,
I come across thoughts.