Poem with Statues Falling

A thousand  bodies lining the bridges.
A thousand bodies walking with purpose
everywhere, into the heart of their burning 
city. It's summer and we are taking 
heads, toppling monuments of despots 
and slave-holders off their plinths, 
tipping them into the river where they
make a big plonk before disappearing 
into the oily depths of the river. 
Now we are our own living,
breathing monuments: in the midst
of the rallying crowds, a man
and woman still in their wedding
clothes, kissing; gleaming boy 
in his graduation toga; girl 
standing regal in a dress, facing 
a line of police officers, hair 
whipping back more than the wind.  

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