Squad Justice
The thin black gauze does not obscure the eyes
Staring at me, one eye closed, one eye open; devoted
Grey metal pipes, exacting in their common goal,
Soon to erupt in justice, to carry out a sentence passed.
The sand below my feet is almost as dry as my mouth
I hum a song not yet written, composing songs never to be heard
I do not smoke, and no one has anything for me to chew
Except gall, and memories, and dust.
No one really knows me, except by what they have read
And as one would expect, most of it is lies, anyway.
And that is why my thoughts remain devoid
Of comprehension, or pity; and for the men poised before me, not even hate.
I know that without even seeing, that the landscape behind
Is crated with ultra-sonic peepholes
That once missed the point, perhaps even a reprimand.
And do I care? It is not obvious, but somehow I do.
My hands are tied to a cheese-hole tree, knotted
Which may scream along with me, if indeed I do.
I have been quick in my time, and I shall soon be dead
And does it matter? No one speaks, and all thoughts are cut off by silence.
I do want it all to end, and also I do not
For life, whilst my example has shown otherwise, is precious
To me, to you, and even while obeying orders, to them
Gazing with intent over iron and wood and sweating hands...
Staring, focussing,
At the paper heart on my chest,
Red, and beckoning,
And sad.
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