Michael M.


They come to my work,
Middle of the day.
I’ve always known it was coming,
Just never thought it would be this way.

No machine guns, no masks.
Not even done in the night.
I go quietly, respectively.
It’s my god-given right.

Of course I don’t agree with them.
No evidence, nothing on paper.
One must have given me up.
Let me tell you, this is no caper.

Why is it like this?
A good idea turned bad.
It’s not what Marx envisioned.
So wrong it would make him mad.

Let me finish now.
Before I’m brought to the gallows,
I’m not scared at all.
My heart is deeper than shallow.

Maybe death will be peaceful.
Unlike this world we live in.
I’ll shake my head when I get onto the platform.
And laugh, for this is what I am given.

They make me a martyr.
They make me a saint.
They make me a rebel.
Oh, how death will be quaint.

Footsteps coming down the hall.
I wish I’d made more a difference, but how?
They’re right outside the door.
I think I’m ready, let’s go now.


Copyright 2002-2007 Student Publishing Program (SPP). Poetry and prose 2002-2007 by individual authors. Reprinted with permission. SPP developed and designed by Strong Bat Productions.