It is cold down on the asphalt.
The chalk figure sketched with disobedience,
while men with golden shining shields circle silently.
Shocked at the idea of what men can do.
Her love bracelet still clung to her wrist,
possibly a trifling concluding comfort.
The sounds of terror and pain should have filled the air,
But her horse-like face,
with gaping mouth,
would show only absolute stillness.
A rubbered hand picks up the pieces that stain the black rock.
Red, white and blue flash against the muggy brick walls,
the calling card of this tardy cleanup crew.