"Republic", Simon Armitage, The Bayeux Tapestry
On Mondays, red cars only enter town.
This is the system. Though the pollution
the snarl-ups, tailbacks and honking of horns
can be mistaken for revolution.
On Tuesdays, white cars alone hit the road.
Looked at form spy satellites it has snowed.
Tourists take photos of convoys winding
along avenues, thinking them weddings.
Blue Wednesday. Blue like the president's blood.
From the mountains the streets are streams in flood.
Thirty degrees in the shade. Armed police
clamp down on turquoise and aquamarine.
Thursdays and Fridays are lemon and lime
like the shorts and shirts of the national team
and the national sport is the people's game.
Weekends are free. Purple. Coffee and cream.
And the money rolls by in dark limos,
Raybans flash from behind tinted windows,
Bodywork gleams. The metallic black
shines to a depth where all colours shine back.
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