Other political poem
Standing in the corridors.
For the bottle of scotch and lines of coke.
Standing and trading.
With themselves , with ourselves.
Ohh, that sweet yellow nectar and the silver dust.
For their pleasure not for treasure.
Kiss and hail.
Lower lower and then back.
People from the foyers.
Can you feel those shoe soles on you?
While you are yelling: ,,Freedom!.’’
Can you feel them?
Can you smell them?