Capital.

Come the revolution, I'll be up against the wall.
Standing straight with heel-click posture, tall and straight
and tall. Search the trembling firing squad,
with blithely scathing eyes,
they all know me
and what I've done,
and some of them have cried.
the commandant steps up,
all hard
with cigarettes
and blindfold,
scarred
across his nose
(and I know why)
and with a nod
I do decline the blindfold
but
with minute sneer,
I indicate the cigarettes,
with look afar -
"Send these away, old friend,"
I say
"and get me a cigar."