The Execution
Here they come
the frequent trespassers of this terrain
in their tattered truck
The heavy black boots
step down
Their helmets on
and safety glasses
their ear muffs
thick face shields
and Kevlar chaps
Forward they march
with calculated steps
There she stood –
a lone giant Lizzab tree
an old green fortress –
as the gang approached
They sized her up
they measured and marked
and then
the keen chainsaw
whirring
whining
grinding
until the mountains
quivered with dread at
the cracking
the crashing
the crunchy bone breaking
Copyright © Nizar Sartawi | Year Posted 2016
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