Honour

By -
Crowds pulsate
angered breath
waiting

Crying out
they will have their justice
stench of rotten food
rancid fruit
the sweet smell
Vengeance

A shout goes out
from amongst the crowd
another
more

They cry out

The procession crosses the platform
they carry me out
starved
tortured
weak
heavy, thick chains
they throw me to the centre

They prepare
the crowd
for their justice
their target
their devil
their focus
for unimaginable, seething
hatred
I have wronged them
the food flies
the hangman is ready
For Me. For Me.

[1997]

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