The riggodon becomes

A riggodon of rancid rakers

of the people’s money

is about to begin

again.

The men in their glittering tuxedos

proffer the softest palms

on gallant arms

to the women in their glorious gowns

emblazoned with diamonds

from Imelda’s envied collection.

They sing a capella

while dancing to the woes

of eighty million souls

believed to be captive

or captured by the dazzling display

of nimble footworks and graceful sways

of hands reflected on the glistening floor.

The dancers are enamoured

as they are the audience themselves.

Outside, in dimly lit shanties

and stinking street corners

the people’s march commences.