The Execution



The clouds had fallen open overnight
and spilled upon the execution place;
was this a sign, a funerary rite
of Mother Nature? Tears streamed down my face
as noisily the butchery began –
the chainsaw roar through silver flesh and bone,
with no reprieve, no one to thwart the plan
ordained by Council on its petty throne.

The graceful upper limbs were severed first,
and then a wedge carved just above the feet;
each body trembled, leaned and fell. I cursed
behind the curtain, maddened yet discreet,
as finally the monster came to dine,
to shred with merciless and metal teeth
the dozen birches that had stood in line
through thirty years. The sky turned dark with grief.

Felicity Teague


If you have any thoughts about this poem, Felicity Teague  would be pleased to hear them