Last night I dream
the crowd chooses me
for death.

I am to lie on my side
while a woman with a rifle
shoots at me.

I feel the bullets
burn through my shoulder,
my side,
my chest.
With each shot
I grow weaker.

I do not mind the dying;
what distresses me
is the impassivity of the people,
their indifferent willingness
to accept this scene–
brutal, murderous–
as the normal order of things.

What is wrong with you?
I wonder.
You can stop this.

No one does.
Fear trumps caring.

And so I die and die and die…

Text and image © 2013 by Dirk deVries. All
rights reserved.