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ON FRIDAY

November 14, 2018

The bald head of the wench,

I’m starving. My nail’s chipped,

Soon, I’ll be on the road again,

The sun’s high in the sky,

The Romans deny my rights,

My existence. They sit down

In my seat, at the front

Of the room. At the head

Of the table. They’re young,

Too young. They understand

Everything but nothing,

I slow down. They’re loud,

They speak over me rudely,

They wear strange caps,

I could come down hard,

I come down hard. Sorry,

They apologise. I listen,

They forgot. They stood,

Raise your hand, approach,

I’m approachable, at length,

Maybe they’ll love me,

They loathe me. That’s fine,

I’m underpaid. I don’t care,

I’m not paid to care,

I step right up and out,

I’m there too briefly,

Two hours here, there,

An hour …. I’m gone,

The sun’s not yet risen,

The son’s not yet risen,

They believe in my god,

They believe differently,

They’re guilty of treason,

They wear wooden shoes,

They shave their heads,

I can’t tell them apart,

Their eyes are bloody,

They stare and it’s dark,

I don’t flick the switch,

The lights remain off,

At dawn they’re in bed,

I dream of six million,

They’re guilty, necessarily,

They survived, by miracle,

This is an opportunity,

Find yourself a home,

Maybe next year will differ,

I can’t think ahead,

I look back at carnage,

Why am I on the outside?

They say I’m not needed,

I’ll be needed one day,

I’ll force myself to hear,

And to be heard. I’m silent,

I whisper. I groan,

I thank them. They shudder,

It comes to an end,

Why not open the door?

I watch through windows,

There’s fog. It hangs low,

The wind blows. It’s cold,

We sigh, thinking of spring,

I’ll soon take two weeks,

So will they …. a day,

Don’t speak of the past,

It’s tragic. We died in debt,

In the end we were opposed,

On the other side, opposite,

I stand before the store,

I’m dry. I’m skeletal,

All around me, gluttony,

For lunch we eat fish,

It’s raw. We’re sickened,

We’re of the wrong culture,

Once a month, on Friday,

The seconds tick down,

I’ll grab you by the arm,

I’m violent. I’m a pacifist,

They speak of sin, suicide,

He’s bold. He’s thin, pale,

I differ. My skin’s fragile,

I’m porcelain. I shatter,

I drink from crystal, wine,

Champagne for his arrival,

He’s the king, and ever formal,

He sings of this, of queens,

I still recall my farewell,

I thought it was over,

I was prepared to fight,

To tear myself away,

The fabric’s torn and worn,

My shoulders are bare,

I sweat. I bore them,

His watch stopped at midnight,

Come morning he’s confused,

He sees the outside world,

The trees dance and prance,

In the distance there’s mist,

In the future there’s time,

It’s just right. The wrong train,

Heading the other way,

He’s in his office. He prays,

It’s early. He’s got time,

I have him tarred and feathered,

In the trenches he falls,

A puddle of mud. It rains,

It’s a lonesome town, at war,

They charge and cry at will,

He’s stabbed through the chest,

The musket is useful,

They calculate. They count back,

Sixty seconds and we’re off,

Into outer space we fly,

Onto the moon we fall,

It was an error. We freeze,

Another chapter’s written,

It doesn’t suffice, not yet,

They carry a heavy load,

He’s on my back, weary,

He holds on tight. I fall,

I slumber and wonder,

When’s the final battle?

It’s right around here,

Turn and face me, fiend,

It’s further than I’d thought,

They’re Catholic, cretins,

They’re the same as me,

There’s one chance left.

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