Grim Sunday

I've seen nomads in the desert
who'll cut you down
like a cactus
for water
and crooks and the mad
who'll try your door
to open
and then steal your eyes
put smoke in your brain
break you like charred paper

and you can cry out to the sky
to please, this time,
don't let it be just me
not here
where I could touch your shadow
feel your breath
make a mess of your bed

but they pare off muscle
and don't leave much –
a beacon, a fire, smoke,
a crazy dream, a message
…there's someone who must be removed
and until he's gone there will remain no one

All this love is nothing
until you've stepped out of your cot
and put this sorry soul back into the pool
under the turf…

You look into the eyes of strangers
but there is no help, no real help

Chattering children play and share their sweets
Will they smell the blood?

~ ~ ~