The Firing Squad

Noon sun burns its relentless rays upon the white washed court yard
murals of alabaster clouds and silver cherubs on turquoise background
despoiled in spots by stains of crimson droplets.

Emaciated prisoners wearing lamb costumes
standing awaiting execution
forced to stay at attention
while judge in gold robe sits at table having gourmet feast.
Their eyes express the horror and disbelief
selected by lottery based on incompetence,
declared as fair and impartial,
though names were chosen in sacred scripture study meeting.

Soldiers dressed as penguins ready to carry out orders
"Thou Shall Not Kill" tattooed on forehead,
never given mirrors to notice its words.

Doctor dressed as mortician
strolls past the condemned
uttering a prayer for their healing from bullets,
talking on cell phone to class of high school students
exposing the virtues of equality and compassion.
Refusing to look at any face facing death,
his mind absorbed with what he will say
when receiving award for humanitarian of the year.

Also reviewing pictures from photo opportunity
taken while helping terminal ill patience,
cameras shut off when he gave the patients
hemlock lemonade in rose colored glass
with "have a nice day on the side."

Boom of rifle folly ends the melodrama
those wound, but not dead
decapitated by a sword
held in hand of lawyer
who was in charge of their defense.

Wind chimes ring out with gospel melodies
love so proudly practiced in such vivid passion,
spent more in selective acts of assassination
than helping those in need of resuscitation.