Fiesta in Rufassa, Valencia

The noon blaze
of a lost empire
shining once again in sunshine and spring cloud
from black lace fan and veil
Boys in toreador costume
The immaculate virgins in brocade, full blush and gowned
The pimpled neo-Francoist youth
And veiled proud motherhood in stately walk
Red roses for mother
Lilies for the virigin
And the saint brought in state upon his chair
Looking down in a saintly stare
Then strong male bodies bear his bier
Sainthood is surely a burden
(It weighs us down)
The angelic little girls in golden curls, pink frocks
could grow wings fly around descend innocently
                            again onto the cobbled streets
It is an idealised hunanity today that weaves through town:
This is how we were
This is how forever we wish to be seen....
The prelates in red skullcaps and patent leather shoes
could be strapped to electric chairs like Bacon's Pope Innocent
But in the mood of the moment
all is forgiven, forgotten
The miliatry band mellows into a melancholic strain
for lost gold, galleons drowned.

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