Bloated, wretched

He marched on all fours

Crawled with his head held high

Staggered in a straight line

And fell sideways

Into my arms

And I could not save him

So I left him there

On the sun-bleached earth

And they placed a shovel on his throat

And stood upon it,


Up and down

Until, as might be said

In polite circles,

He expired.

And I didn't know his name.