They advance on a little blue army
and hold their breaths
when the teargas comes
in thick white clouds
until their lungs burn for equity.

They don't try to hide the tears
that stream as one tear
and soak into the handkerchiefs and scarves
pulled over their noses
to hide their faces
like they are banditos of old.

They throw molotov cocktails
and they burst on the asphalt like the fireworks they throw
at the fiestas,
and if you dare to move in close
and snap a picture for your magazine,
you might see the hate behind the blood in their eyes.

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