Monarchs demand I bow and bend the knee,
to show respect they don’t deserve.
Their subject I refuse to be.
Non serviam, I will not serve.
Who are you
Speeding by with your siren-wailing escort.
Behind bulletproof glass you sip your wine and do not look
at those who gaze open-mouthed at your passing.
The cold evening air
The loud post work drinkers, spilling onto the pavement
The shop windows
The bright lights
The late shoppers
The big red bus