For Budapest, I Guess

The smell of change

is in the air but is it rotten?

Or does it smell like fresh fish

delivered in the early morning

by fishermen who have been fishing

for the greater part of their lives

but who are just now realizing

it is the industry that has changed

and the nurturing bed of Earth,

not their own ancient methods.

There is a girl who sits in the air

like buddha or a saint

at the protests pumping her fist

and shouting for revolution

and she harbors the violence

of a terracotta flower pot

teetering from the third floor

balcony.

Tomorrow we will all wake up

with the sun glowing on the horizon

like it hasn’t done since

the newspapers were all bought

and began reporting on the immigrant

rays of the disgusting sunrise

coming from the East.