Arrest

after Chénier

When the death-cave of the dark abattoir
             Gapes wide for a bleating sheep,
The shepherds and dogs, the slow flock, the far
             Fields are unaware as sleep.
The children who loved his leaps on the green,
             And the rose-complexioned girls
That showered kisses on his face so clean,
             Daisy-chaining those white curls,
Shall now – without one tender thought – praise stew;
             Buried in this living hell,
I have, dumb brother, the same fate as you
             At oblivion’s hotel.

Forgotten like me in a house of pain,
             Thousands more blonde sheep will be
...