the anarchist’s daughter
I’ve lost my place in line
after grapefruit went out of season
walking back to the car
I hear people asking
sir are you alright
nobody’s around
but back in the back alley
boys & young men
cast lots for rocks
march off to their next ruling
& brutal execution
[how I know such things
is nobody’s business]
it’s almost always about who
not when or where
or even how
torture is torture
whether concealed by a shroud
or orchestrated in broad daylight
may two thousand twenty-three
copyright j matthew waters
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