That era is past isn’t it,
And those days are gone:
Rallying on May Day, consuming the booze
Shouting slogans at the Mayflower,
Allowing the devil loose.
That era is past and as the
Frail rallies trickle along
Blocked honking roads.
Among vocal rallyists, when noone’s looking,
A less vocal follower is facebooking.
This is that era then — the one before the blast.
Everything looks too silent and surreal
To be true. An era where age-tested, familiar tactics
Look forlorn at you. An age where the known methods to man
Sink before your feet into sinking sand.
That age where no words are spilled,
Where skeptical eyes watch from behind
Half-revealing metal masks. Bewildering
Businesses happen. Noone asks.
That age that ideally would come to pass.