The Great Victory

I remember the victory of Samothrace. They decided to erect a monument. Minutes before, the advertising team passed by. They gathered up the beggars. They removed them like the bubonic plague. They promised them honey and basil curls. Their contribution to ugliness was saintly. Someone wanted to lithograph a wall to mark the moment. It would be historic. They would refer to it in a tabloid in Portugal and England. Soon it would be carnival time; Christmas was a punitive event. They all disappeared. They were sent away. The stains were erased; colored cards were used to identify the masses. The royalty would only come to pose. To show photos of royalty. To dissuade, to instill an overwhelming nostalgia for the feudal period. Although the castles continued to exist. The laws of the moat and the pendulum continued to exist. Boxes with ingredients from the Middle Ages, with sweeteners and enzymes that kill, continued to be allowed. The royalty was of another mass; they were the millennial tenderness, willing to sacrifice themselves for progress.
They brought funds. Grass snatched from Paris. The capital of indomitability. Do you think I should pose on a horse? The horse would look good but in ivory. A dirty ivory horse. They would then reduce it to rubble. Royalty does not reuse. They put up signs in the parks. No feeding the pigeons. Someone talked about writing on stone. The first blank book, but in limestone, perpetual. They wrote about progress. Freedom of opinion and equality. It was sad not to be royalty. You would know languages and you would have to write and walk so upright that glasses of water would remain motionless on your head.
Someone painted green passed by announcing discounts. They looked like frogs on their pilgrimage. What became of all the scaffolding? The lights, no one saw cameras, only death in the form of a promise.
Then the marble was brought in. Millions were stolen from the budget, no one talked about recycled materials, the victory of a barbaric, pirric people, in disuse, it didn't matter. The apples looked perfect in the newspaper. Finally, someone from the royal family dropped some crusts. He made an addition, the guards put away their weapons and said they could pick it up. The crowd, stunned, stopped contemplating the monument while chewing.

Translated with DeepL.com (free version)

Image created by me using a prompt in the AI, Grok.

Para @wakeupkitty, @solperez.

And for all those who use art as their banner.