A mural

The man looked grave
And erudite was his moustache,
Thick,
Almost Stalin,

Above his head
A casement sat,
And near his hand
There were clenched fists,
They all shouted slogans,
Perhaps,

And smoke from chimneys
Stopped briefly near a flag with a star in the middle,
Before catching up with the rest of the wall,

Someone Salvadore Allende
Had been celebrated,
Presumably,

And a few paces away,
Where smell of raviolis
Filled the air,
A painted figure
Motionless sitting on a stool
Narrated the lore of Eleanora,

Facing the figure
There were faces numerous,
They had the intent of breaking out something,
In chorus,

Only
It was
A mural.

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