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At The End Of The Day

Ian Mullins

We are only required
to die; so why sit quietly
in your cell, waiting
to accept the blindfold?

I wear it now and look,
I see nothing
and no one, never again.

When the soft bullet comes
I will sit quietly
in the middle of the road,
quietly registering
my contempt and regard
for the heaps of humanity
rushing to jobs
and other diseases,

never blindfolded
tightly enough to blinker
their destination.
Here is the abattoir
where all cattle
are cut: reaped and sown

to raise a black harvest
for the only god
all are ordained to worship;
the holy ghost posing
as human.

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