
Caution
Dynasties of big-mouthed Roman generals in purple crawl the streets.
Spit and rumors everywhere, bald heads bowing their dirt-filled deeds.
But it’s not cheap to do the world dirty like that, to break a promise.
I was a kid back when I heard the last speech that was humble and honest.
My hate for the leaders made me hate my father, then – anyone who mattered.
If I had the option to save a friend or myself, I would choose the latter.
Not that I’m selfish or ungrateful, but the reality is nastier than fear.
..Maybe they’re close relatives? But what’s the difference if you can’t see clear?
(When I change for worse, I don’t want anyone near.)
So I carry on with a backpack filled with past disgraces, another one with future regrets.
Yellow bandana covering my dry mouth as the moon inevitably sets.
The purple crowds keep smearing truths back at the city, and I don’t mind.
I was raised to survive this war, not to lay my head down being kind in a fight.
-JW