by Nick Gisburne
Camelia, reminded of her veil,
Is punished by a ruling of the court.
Inevitably, always meant to fail,
She tried to test the system, and was caught.
No margin for discretion from the men
Had ever been recorded in the Code.
She checked it, searching, over and again,
But nothing, not a single entry showed.
And yet she walked, a woman, door to door,
In daylight, blatant, shameless, fearless, proud,
A hundred steps, not many, maybe more,
An act of pure sedition, through the crowd.
Uncovered. Moments, minutes, just her face,
Enough for her to hang. No fight. No trace.
