the day they shot the poet
they deported
the last disposition of a poet
that would have told tomorrow
of today of how it died
in all the brutality of suddenly
they have shot tomorrow today
and hearts unrelated to this
cry
for the poet as a person
who wrote and wrote
but will never do so again
we say never again
again and again they shoot never again
so that they may think they own today
but death has folded the list
of their wrong doings
it is lodged in too many hearts to be extirpated
for who will deliver their mail
or deliver their take-aways
and of course the poem
full of their just desserts
