Romeo Naces Poet Free verse

Butcher's Hands

as though from some 
   underground crypt,  
      a cold draft

from the fridge chills 
   his bloodied hands 
      in the quiet night

that's turning slow 
   from greenish blue 
      now to indigo;

briskly rubs his palms, 
   knobby fingers with 
      sudsy soap,

plunges them into 
   a white plastic pail
      of black water

under the the yellow 
   glow of an old
      electric bulb;

reflected light bobs, 
   leaps and mutely 
      screams

in the violated water, 
   struggling, as if
       to be free;

clean hands sleep 
   as guiltless
      as can be!

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