Saturday, May 4, 2013

EXECUTIVE ORDERS




I was surprised
how mundane the institution,
impervious to conversation,
inexorable, impersonal,
preparations and transport
were for my execution.

Led in cuffs  to a jetty,
then into a small boat
with four handlers
bound for an island,

my escorts studied
paper forms, not me,  
doing their job
in a bureaucracy.

The firing squad kneels in front,
stands behind.  “Take this target,
pin it to his chest,”
the corporal says.
Orders followed.
Over in a minute. 



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