Anger for Abel
Billows of smoke
slowly curling into the sky
Rising from what
I know must be the east
Where my white
marble altar points,
Hiding it
reliquary full of dead saints’
Divinely sacred
dust –
And I hear a
voice
Coming from
somewhere
Not nearly so
close to heaven
As its tone
suggests:
Clearly we have
not completed our mission.
But if we only
throw
A little more of
your native green into the dessert
And spend just
enough native red,
Yes fully slather
the sands
And all that
sun-baked mud with red
Surely we'll
resolve this crisis once and for all.
Isn’t is funny
how that red
Starts
off dull and purple until it mixes with the open air.
Funny how one can
never tell by looking at it
Or smelling it
festering in the beautiful noonday sun
Whether
it came from the east or west.
So, talk to me,
slain keeper of the flock.
I'm looking
straight down at the earth –
The same earth
from which your blood
Called
up to the skies for vengeance.
Can you hear me?
Or was your blood
washed away by the Flood?
Or maybe it’s
that by now so much blood
Is down there,
all screaming at once
That nothing can
be heard.
Well if you can
hear me,
Let me ask you
this,
What if it had
been different –
What if you had
kept your better sacrifice to yourself,
Just between you
and Jehovah?
Did you really
have to put it out there
Where everyone
could see it?
You must have
known your brother was a jealous man,
After all he was
the one who had to till the cursed ground
While you got to
play with your pets.
Why couldn't you
have leant your brother a lamb or two?
Obviously you
were as convinced as we are
Your Maker loves
the savory odor of burning flesh.
But no, you had
to go and show off
And get yourself
killed.
And look what's
happened -
You left your
brother to be our great grandfather
And sure as shootin'
We're all just
like he was.
So,
Black billows of
poison smoke rising from the east
And nobly, so
very nobly we send our children off
To kill
To die
Ah, listen,
someone is singing a hymn:
"Onward
Christian soldiers
Jews and Muslims
too…"
This world will
turn to crimson
Long before the
moon ever does
And somehow the
sign upon his forehead
Still protects
the murderer,
And God almighty,
Why on earth
should I be in any way surprised?