The wind rescinds the harsh rule of the regent.
It blows his fleet of fierce ships aground.
The revolution spreads out like detergent
on an oil slick. It’s the biggest stain around.
The people on the even streets are insurgent;
they put the odd street people to the sword
which sounds that bit more classical than ‘murder’
but hurts as much. Such power has a word
that a haberdasher – good teeth, wavy hair
and a voice like John Wayne – commands the news.
Each day he smiles on television beaming
misinformation that the strife is over
until it is. Then, at the crowd’s suggestion,
he moves into the palace, and parades
on feast days, and survivors open shops
and all is as before. It never stops.