It`s clear. Sunny deadly town,
its square with old young bones is lined.
Cold furtive faces wave the flag
and soldiers guard them and the time.
On concrete a brass band struck up,
A man stepped on a carpet red.
His hand he’s keeping on his chest,
into a pantheon heavy steps.
Its fatty body's clapping out,
a daughter of Jezebel on stage,
one right-believer, three lean men.
A speech. A pause. A burst of cheers.
Copyright © Aleh Barysau