We are as cheap as the pigs bound for slaughter,
in those corners of the world
where we are just objects to others.
Everything you might think important;
how many times has it all been swept away
down the long road of your many lives?
I can see the execution yard,
the concrete and the stains,
and I can see the men who fire the rounds
waiting for their shift to end
so they can seek their evening meal
and the warmth of their woman.
Enormous uncaring forces move around us
and we can only hope they will not gaze upon us.
Our dreams and our children survive
only by the simple good fortune
of where we were born;
far from the fires of hell
that move through the forests
of some of our lives.
Every minute I breath free and unharmed
is a gift - in a world such as this.
You know, in China, the family of the executed
must pay for the cost of the bullet.
But here, safe, I only have to read the book
that tells the story.
gallagher
26Aug17
Christchurch, New Zealand
- after reading Red China Blues by Jan Wong
— Copyright 1965-2017 by Dennis Gallagher —