By Richard Mather
And again:
the thud of executions
echoes
in the green ear of Maboula, Cameroon.
The tremendous squeak of the assassin's blow
and the axe cleaves the trunk:
the first bite
travels
down
the
core
like
electricity
through bone.
The wood rings out dull music,
a drowsy monotone.
A loud
creak and
the sky
topples;
a tearing
tumult
of raindrops,
leaves
and twigs.
Upper kingdoms are disturbed:
birds disperse and disappear
with the passing clouds;
hives fall apart in the fall:
the royal parent and her heirs
scatter in the white wind like seeds.
A corpse lies on the forest floor, inert: another wrecked thing that will never rise.
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