Nail Man
The square fills with banners and brass,with speeches that ring like hammered steel.A wooden soldier stands in the center—silent, tall, waiting for iron. They call him the Nail Man. Children clutch coins in trembling fists.Mothers lift hammers too heavy for their hands.Old men step forward with solemn prideas if entering a chapel. The first nail bites. Strike. The sound cracks across the…
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