The fit
walk with perfect posture,
spindly gazelle legs, dolphin laughs,
firm flesh bared to the world.
The intelligent
walk with eyes up
assessing architectural integrity,
minds floating on a whole other level.
The beautiful
glide just above the porous concrete
with gaunt concentration and stern smiles.
My god how they dazzle!
The tyrants
slink around in shadows
taking notes and leave detonating devices
under flower shops and fountains.
I walk with you,
my little poem,
pleading for the color of your hair,
your hometown, your name at least,
but you won't give away a thing.
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