Flags

We wear these colours as flags
that declare the sun, ragging
as the breeze plies our skin.
The heat rises, colours deepen
slowly with our odour. Our feet
flash across concrete. All around,
the sounds of sirens and jangling
guitars, smoke signals on the green.
The air is full of mutterings
from inside shady stores, shouts
out of windows, jokes barked
on street corners. They are
received and translated, spun
into the fabric of each bright shawl,
each white shirt. On the roofs
the pidgeons sweat and thirst.
They came, cut the new growth off
the trees outside my window. Last
night I found them as barren giants.
Today even they are naked.