You think you’ve had it real rough
Until you join the snaking queue
Of shaven-headed vacant men
Who’ve lost a parent, same as you.
The officer who certifies,
Who puts a number to a death,
Politely stamps and cycles through
Assembly lines of shaven-heads.
The man outside the office block
Awaits with cycle-full of merch:
A cap for every shaven-head
Before they even think to search.