A long flowing snake
Of people sauntering
Through the streets
Crowds caterpaulting
Upon signs of
Sweatshop treats

Colours and shapes
Draped upon a
Myriad of skin
Matching one another
Like a false array of kin

Heros take their stand
While the audience applauds
Criminals remanded
Even angels take a fall

Think the worst if you will
It’s your bitter pill
But think of all the
Panic when the crowd
Have their fill