A Quick Poem For Those Lost To An Unspeakable Act.

A Shepherd Abandons His Flock

(Or, Title This The Way You Want, For You Know What I am Talking About)

Oh.

There was that city

It sat upon a hill,

so bold.

As a home to great men

Who smoked cigars in those abstruse rooms

And choked themselves with slick fabrics

And wore those winning smiles

That would charm anything with a beating heart,

Even as the teeth bit into a leg of lamb

And were wetted by the juice

Of the plucked plums

Of the city upon the hill.

Don’t you know?

The shepherd abandoned his flock.

And as the lambs called out for his return,

The wolves cried hallelujah,

Deep howling hallelujah,

Because all they had to do

Was hop the fence,

Over the chicken wire

And into the pen

Where they could smear the warm blood

Of the young,

Free of the shepherd’s staff

Free of the kick to the underbelly.

And as they ripped away the fur and the meat,

As they sucked the marrow from the bones,

As they wrestled over the scraps of a fresh dead,

The shepherd watched from a nearby hill,

His cloak free of blood and bites.

And he smiled,

Knowing a lamb’s heart

Was worth

A little copper or lead,

Depending on the day of the week.

So there you hear.

The flock lies pierced by teeth,

White as alabaster columns,

The adornment of city halls.

The men's smiles,

never waning,

never fading.

As untouched hazel eyes

look over the bloody fields,

the pens where the lambs

used to trot,

on soft little hoofs

and belt songs

with unrecognizable lyrics

but beautiful tones.

And all the while,

Even after the people cried out,

The flock remains scattered

across the hills,

raped carcasses.

And so when the shepherd returns,

With a new flock,

And a pocket full of riches,

His chest swells

and pride balloons

deaf to the voices of the caring.