Roughage

So many shouting voices
On my street today
Echoes of the inner roar
Of all their frustrations
"Sell out! Sell out!"
The black woman screams
To the air, not really the people
Holding scrawled placard
Something 'bout racism
Then a young lad
Upstaged by a turning car
"Come back here, you pussio,
Come back see what I do to you!"
As the man encased in metal
Speeds away oblivious.
So many shouts on my street
Today in the bright, cold light
I watch from the upper windows
Like an inbred and bonkers
Royal mishap
Stashed in the tower
To save embarrassment.