Aside a velvet street,

lollipop trees line up,

simply a glass barrier,

stiffly unaware of its vulnerability.

 

It hangs from the sky,

shining and capturing

the steaming eyes of the crowd.

Their heads inch closer,

avoiding its sharp glare,

to watch the breath leave

the almost lifeless man.

 

Next to it lies a pencil box,

its lid waiting to close,

desperately wanting to catch

his future offenses.

A stiff wall stands in place,

the bricks repel the growls

of names from the other end.

 

Angling their noses up,

they howl their insults.

Swinging side to side,

they peer around the guards,

crying their anger,

sprouting out names.

 

Those further behind,

still ferocious and vigilant,

wait impatiently for their turn,

fishing and jerking for a better view.

The lions stand proudly in front,

roaring their curses and threats.

 

The rails vibrate,

bowing down

to the deafening chants:

Coupez-le. Coupez-le.