Wednesday, February 27, 2013

Poem of the Day



The Executioner

  

In Istanbul the executioner had a fountain

To wash away the blood

Clean the tools of death 

Wash away the guilt, perhaps.

 

They said he mocked

The woman set to die

On his watch.

In Texas the executioner’s fountain

Is full of blood.

The hands of the executioner

Are soft and white

The fingernails long and delicate.

 

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