POETRY

His heart in his mouth,
leaden legs, crossed arms
he faces the studded door.

Clouds of plaster,
exhaled by the poor ceiling,
redden with every butt
as they reach the floor.

Mariam is bleeding, but still
alive and clinging to his cloak.
He's been at this for a while.

"Open up. Let her go.
And I'll kill you in honor."
It's nearly four-o-clock.

Outside the cell,
although he cannot hear,
the crowd grows restless.

Alireza tosses
towards the cinder wall.
Time still remains.

The door splinters.
The knight that enters
is a giant of a man.

The decor fades to an alley.
The polygon count through the roof.
The man's snicker of content
swallows his soul.

He charges. A blade appears
the instant he wished it.
The wind picks up. The movement,
sped up, slowed down, something,
sparkles in the sun. Resistance
then a scream. His? No. Not his.

Four-thirty. Mariam is gone.
They enter, solemn, all of them.
They cover his head. Wait!
Wait! It was either him or me!

But Chivalry bows, and points out
that in the virtual age,
it has always been
the widow maker.

jam11