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Poem

The rope is tight around my neck
And I feel it making its imprint
Into my flesh.
I glance at the growing crowd
That has gathered round
To watch me perform my trick.
In the crowd I see only pale faces
Whose lifeless laughing pupils seem to sear
Into my flesh.
I turn from them to look at my hands,
Hands callous from cotton-picking in bands
But at last I am freed by God's graces.
I can still smell the pottage heating by the fire
I can still feel the embers jumping out
Into my flesh.
I can still see the corner, full of refuse
I can taste my bloodied molars, loose
After a thorough clubbing from the Sire.
I can see my mother being stripped and whipped
I can see my father drenched in burning tar that seeps
Into his flesh.
See my sisters displayed naked and bare
See them modeled like two healthy mares
Hear my brother's sigh as his lashing is skipped.
But I, thank God, am more fortunate than these:
I am released at once from the burden 
That trembles the flesh,
Spared from the torture, from the agony,
Whisked away in a chariot stately.
And thank God for the oak, the sweet gum, trees
That have mercy on me, that grant my wish,
(Euthanasia)
FREEDOM.
And SNAP! the sand-bags hit the dirt...

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