Iron, Lion, Zion


I’m in a school. Jockeys race through, running down children. They are shouting something, they are distressed. Behind them, soldiers on foot begin shooting. The jockeys were trying to warn the children. The soldiers look terrified, possessed. They fall to the ground cowering, as fight becomes flight, their bodies unable to deal with the adrenalin over production.

Outside the school, I watch as protestors and police take pot shots at each other. I walk to the fence. A young black guy carries a stained, avocado toilet from the 70s. Others have other bathroom items. We are protesting on an old bathroom theme, it would appear. The black guy stands in a thin wire cage, naked and soiled, we lift the cage above some steps down off the playing field, resting above them. He sings Iron, Lion, Zion, and I wonder what Bob Marley was on about. Late arrivals bring more stuff.
I tell them the guy in the cage has nailed it.
🚽 🚽🚽 🚽🚽 🚽🚽 🚽🚽 🚽🚽 🚽🚽 🚽🚽 🚽🚽 🚽
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