They wandered in their sterile town:
No scents, no speech or body language.
When feeling lucky they showed you around
To nobly frame the lasting damage.

Some skipped to tease, some added delay,
The unders assumed it was theirs to take.
It probably wasn't for you to say.
The uppers let the servants fake.

They smiled like women but talked like men,
It was only a stage, a kind of act.
If it hadn't been for the big stars then
Perhaps you'd have tried alternative facts.

The warden tapped his cap higher,
He puffed out his remaining lung
Then with familiar weariness sighed,
Extended his trembling thumb.