This court has never held that the Constitution forbids the execution of a convicted defendant who has had a full and fair trial but is later able to convince a habeas court that he is 'actually' innocent.
(Meaning: It is not unconstitutional to have an innocent person executed.)
- Judge Scalia, US Supreme Court

It's worse than you thought, Frank. It's darker in here than you would have imagined.
- John Bennett Allen, US juror and author who assisted me in my research

'No, it was Hernandez'; climbing
in the car, Carlos De Luna
realised his awkward timing,
took a breath and then declared:
'I saw him leave!' - 'And didn't tell us sooner?' -
'I drank, though on parole, and I got scared!'

'That's why you were hiding under
pickups? No one will defend you!
Where's your shirt and shoes, I wonder?' -
'When I scaled a fence, the shirt
got stuck.' The cop replied: 'I understand you.
If I was in your shoes, I, too, would spurt!'

Minutes earlier a station
had been robbed; the clerk was calling
9-1-1, the situation
escalated, and the man
stabbed her repeatedly. When she was falling,
passing another customer, he ran.

Wanda Lopez died. The fitness
of police made sure to capture
their sole suspect, and the witness
was brought over to the car.
'Are you quite sure that's him?', one asked with rapture
and added with a smile: 'I'm sure you are.'

One was sceptic: 'I'm recalling
that you mentioned a Hispanic
with a moustache; was it falling
off? And can you answer me:
where's his grey shirt?' - The witness didn't panic:
'It was quite dark, I didn't really see.'

The police force trampled through the
bloody footprints, not faint-hearted,
and took photographs. 'Let's do the
paperwork. - That's all, I guess.'
They took the knife, five dollars and departed,
telling the day shift clerk to clean the mess.

As De Luna's eyes grew misty
from a few detectives' roasting,
the police in Corpus Christi
soon were swamped with many a call,
claiming Carlos Hernandez had been boasting
about the Lopez murder in a brawl.

The authorities kept searching
for the driver who'd warned Wanda
of a man whom he'd seen lurching,
and who caused her to alert
police; meanwhile a man discovered under
a bush De Luna's shoes and clean white shirt.

Without evidence that placed him
at the scene, they were dependant
on that witness; once they traced him,
he, asked whom he saw that night,
made two attempts to point out the defendant
in court - the second time he got it right.

'If you demonstrate repentance
and plead guilty during trial,
we will give you a life sentence;
you won't have to die.' - 'I guess
you didn't take the time to read my file -
I'm innocent, and I shall not confess!'

Prosecution, without cessation,
said: 'Confess it, we implore you!
You were running from the station,
you were present at the time!
You've been identified by two who saw you:
one at the door, and one commit the crime!'

'No, it was Hernandez, won't you
listen, please!', De Luna blurted
out. 'We look alike; why don't you
bring Hernandez here - you'll see!' -
'Hernandez is a phantom', they asserted,
knowing the phantom was in custody.

After his arrest for robbing
yet another store with shocking
cruelty, Hernandez, gobbing
blissfully, talked of the day
he'd murdered Wanda Lopez and kept mocking
Carlos De Luna who would have to pay.

Though De Luna kept enquiring,
all his statements were neglected,
and the jury were retiring.
When the jurors came back out,
the verdict was announced, just as expected:
'Guilty beyond a reasonable doubt'.

In the prison yard, an inmate
asked him: 'Carlos, will you grace me
with your presence? How've you been, mate?
You have stabbed a clerk, I heard?' -
'It was Hernandez; they can't even place me
inside the station where the crime occurred.

'They've no evidence, and chiefly
all they have are two misguided
witnesses who think they briefly
saw me in the dark that day.' -
'Welcome to death row; Uncle Sam decided.
I'm Joe, and I will be your guide today.'

Both discussed their murder cases
in the years that followed, talking
of their apprehensive chases,
of appeal and of reprieve,
and every time the two of them were walking
the yard, they wondered who'd be first to leave.

'Who is this? It seems that guy is
far too young for this solution.' -
'He is said to be impious;
that is Johnny Garrett, son,
who was a minor when, as prosecution
convinced the court, he raped and killed a nun.'

When his time had come, De Luna
met the chaplain. 'God has sent us
many trials, and the sooner...' -
'Will I suffer?', he enquired..
'You'll be unconscious once the needle enters -
it's swift and painless, just as you desired.'

He was strapped into the gurney
and the needle was injected.
Going on his final journey,
Carlos never closed his eyes,
stared at the chaplain, turned his head and acted
as if he tried to speak, to his surprise.

Once again his head was moving
to the side as if he'd ponder
over something. Disapproving
of his fate, De Luna tried
to tell the world once more who murdered Wanda,
and with that name nobody heard he died.

Joe befriended Johnny hours
after Carlos went, ungrieving.
'I've been framed by mystic powers,
but the system can not fail
the innocent on death row; I'm believing
that in the long run justice will prevail.' -

'Oh, the system's gonna fail you!',
Joe's approach seemed very buoyant.
'Tell me, son, how did they nail you -
polygraph or crystal ball?' -
'I was accused by Bubbles the Clairvoyant,
a girl whose dream revealed my guilt to all.

'Ten old women in my city
have been raped by a Hispanic
man who showed no shame nor pity
as he brutally fulfilled
his sick desires, less human than satanic,
and Narnie Bryson was the first he killed.

'She'd been raped and badly beaten,
suffocated with her pillow,
and then strangled by the cretin
till her life had slipped away:
the devil had arrived in Amarillo,
and still remains there to this very day.

'Halloween the culprit gambled -
raped another geriatric,
leaving her for dead, and ambled
to the convent in my street
where he proceeded to pursue a hat trick
by butchering a nun as trick-or-treat.

'Just like Narnie Bryson, Sister
Tadea Benz had long been working
with the refugees; when Mister
Hill, DA, was called and came,
a witness claimed he'd seen a Cuban lurking
around - Hill said the killer was the same.

'Everything the perpetrator
left behind was soon collected:
semen they disposed of later,
blood and bundles of black hair
from bed and nightgown, others were detected
upon her face and body - everywhere!

'Afterwards police were catching
their main suspect; from the station;
since the blood types weren't matching,
they released him, and no gleam
of hope encouraged their investigation
till Bubbles saw the murder in a dream.

'She described a brown-haired slender
teenager with facial features
like Abe Lincoln; the offender,
as she said, lived in a small
white house nearby and drove his mum and teachers
insane by being as slow as he was tall.

'So policemen chauffeured Bubbles
round the town until she spotted
our white house; that's when my troubles
slowly started to unfurl.
I was arrested, and since then I've rotted
in prison for the vision of a girl.

'True, my fingerprints were lifted
at the scene; a few days prior
Tim, my friend, and I had sifted
through her drawers to collect
some necklaces. They're calling me a liar,
though Tim has testified to that effect.

'They condemned me without viewing
evidence, called me a demon,
said they knew what I'd been doing,
never matched my blood or hair
to that found at the scene, threw out the semen,
and dared to tell me that my trial was fair.

'They did not believe my mother,
and they weren't even trying
to connect me to the other
murders. Not a doubt about
the jury's verdict that I should be dying:
"Guilty beyond a reasonable doubt".'

'Some last words?' - The man inflamed him;
Johnny, while the clock was ticking,
put a curse on those who framed him.
'Anything besides this?' - 'Yes,
I thank my friends and family for sticking
with me. The rest of the world can kiss my ass!'

When they started to deliver
the injection, he turned stiller,
couldn't scream nor breathe nor shiver
till the toxin's work was done,
twelve years before they captured Bryson's killer
who also claimed he'd raped and killed a nun.

After Johnny's death, the callous
Joe approached another churning
prisoner. The men at Ellis
liked to mix, but none of them
was talking to the man accused of burning
his children: Cameron Todd Willingham.

Will the State continue killing
without evidence, I wonder?
Will the system keep on spilling
innocent blood to please the crowd,
or close a case, or cover up a blunder? -
They will, beyond a reasonable doubt.

February 6252 RT (2010 CE), added to The Miracle of Mortality

Qualifications

Of course you need a qualification
to be a barber and take care
of whitewalls and of pompadours,
because we trust you with our hair.

Of course you need a qualification
as clerk of a bank where people stash
their money and regard it safe,
because we trust you with our cash.

But you don't need a qualification
to be a parent or MP,
because you only rule our lives -
just how demanding could that be?

27-28/02/6252 RT (2011 CE), added to That's the Way It Is

---

Christmas Eve at Dublin Airport

(Flight EI0392)

Twas Christmas Eve at Dublin Airport, and no one sang carols that night,
but Aer Lingus provided a game of Keep guessing what happened to your flight.

At the time of our scheduled departure we waited quite patiently, being aware
that, due to the weather, it might take them longer to bring us up in the air.
There were no announcements, so some kept checking the board, and soon enough
at one stage the terminal changed without warning, so we got up in a huff
and ran through the airport with reddened faces in order to catch our plane
and arrived at our terminal half an hour later, sat down and waited again.
Twas Christmas Eve at Dublin Airport, and no one sang carols that night,
but Aer Lingus provided a game of Keep guessing what happened to your flight.

One hour past our scheduled departure we let out a sigh of relief when we saw
the display read Hamburg, and so we kept waiting as patiently as before.
But then the display just changed into Brussels; a glance at the board showed the gate
had been changed once again, so we ran through the airport, afraid of being too late.
And once again we sat down and waited, and some checked the board now and then,
and in vain we waited for any announcements to tell us where and when.
Twas Christmas Eve at Dublin Airport, and no one sang carols that night,
but Aer Lingus provided a game of Keep guessing what happened to your flight.

Two hours past our scheduled departure some people checked out the board once more
and read the entry Hamburg - Departed, which shook the crowd to the core.
Some passengers panicked, and some started crying, and some ran from gate to gate
in order to ask someone from Aer Lingus if we were really too late.
But in the departure parts of the airports, as difficulties increase,
you'd rather find a needle and haystack than Aer Lingus employees.
Twas Christmas Eve at Dublin Airport, and no one sang carols that night,
but Aer Lingus provided a game of Keep guessing what happened to your flight.

Three hours past our scheduled departure we'd managed to run a few miles, nothing less,
attempting to find a contact number for Aer Lingus, without success.
'They've left without waiting for us', some lamented and left on the very next bus.
'They couldn't have flown without passengers', others insisted, 'they'll wait for us!'
We asked employees of the other airlines to help us, but no one could tell
us how we could contact the desk of Aer Lingus, which some didn't take too well.
Twas Christmas Eve at Dublin Airport, and no one sang carols that night,
but Aer Lingus provided a game of Keep guessing what happened to your flight.

Four hours past our scheduled departure two fearless staff members were spotted who knew
quite nothing about the flight, but one offered to go and talk to the crew.
His unlucky colleague sure felt like a hostage, although we were kind and polite,
and awaited his speedy return, just as anxious as we were for news of our flight.
He came back, and he told us there's ice on the runway, and therefore the plane had to be
diverted to Cork and, after refuelling, would be here eventually.
Twas Christmas Eve at Dublin Airport, and no one sang carols that night,
but Aer Lingus provided a game of Keep guessing what happened to your flight.

Five hours past our scheduled departure our aircrew appeared and told us the score:
the airport in Cork had run out of fuel, and they just had ordered some more.
The ominous Hamburg - Departed entry was changed to another gate,
and those of us who were still at the airport sat down again to wait.
With all other flights departed or cancelled, it felt like a ghost town; our peers
had their faces either red with anger or puffed up from too many tears.
Twas Christmas Eve at Dublin Airport, and no one sang carols that night,
but Aer Lingus provided a game of Keep guessing what happened to your flight.

Six hours past our scheduled departure some vouchers were handed out by the crew,
and so we sat down for a pint on Christmas, discussing what we would do
if we had arrived in Hamburg already, the stories we would tell,
and guessing who could be that important that our flight wasn't cancelled as well.
Then there were four or five more changes of gates to keep us fit,
while all around the snow-white country the Christmas trees were lit.
Twas Christmas Eve at Dublin Airport, and no one sang carols that night,
but Aer Lingus provided a game of Keep guessing what happened to your flight.

Seven hours past our scheduled departure from Dublin we finally boarded the plane
and wished back the golden days of yore when we'd go by ferry and train.
The captain politely asked us to hurry because he felt disposed
to arrive at the snowed-in airport in Hamburg before it, too, was closed.
'Would it not be funny if we were diverted to Frankfurt', I ventured to say,
'because they have closed the airport in Hamburg?' - I made no more friends that day.
Twas Christmas Eve at Dublin Airport, and no one sang carols that night,
but Aer Lingus provided a game of Keep guessing what happened to your flight.

24-29/12/6251 RT (2010 CE)

---

The Secret Word

The old magician wrung his hands in terror:
now that that the world was in the hands of one,
it entered the apocalyptic era
that had been prophesised since time begun:
a world of tyranny and warfare and poverty unheard
of, should he not succeed to manage to find the secret word.

That word would bring prosperity and gladness,
that word would end all tyranny and wars,
the nations' and religions' raging madness
and render lasting peace to all our shores.
The word is known to just one creature, but she won't set us free:
she was the one who spoke the other and caused our misery.

Mankind's destruction is her only mission:
this planet's oldest demon, older far
than any god, brought greed and competition
to all her neighbours with the nasty scar
of losses for all losers, winners and those who stand aside
since her demand to be their empress was blatantly denied.

She waited for a little tiff with patience,
she spoke the word, and soon she looked upon
the first religion and the first of nations;
then Tiamat, the whore of Babylon,
set up her watching post where farmers declared themselves to be
rulers and kings and priests of others and shaped their destiny.

She saw mankind creating their first borders
and fight for every little piece of brush;
when man commenced to kill on others' orders
she watched with glee and wore their blood as blush.
The demon no one ever summoned has almost reached her goal,
and only finding out her secret can give us back our soul!

He read the tablets once again; a caustic
Sumerian hymn to Enki broke the spell.
The old magician shouted: 'An acrostic!
Now I can summon her, and she must tell!'
He drew the zodiac around him and said the words he'd found
by chance and called the vicious demon who entered through the ground.

'I summoned you! You must reveal', he beckoned,
'the word to end all tyranny and war!'
He shrunk as she gained volume by the second
and filled his house; it was not long before
she covered the entire city, and still she seemed to grow,
and in a thund'rous voice she bellowed: 'The secret word is No!'

24-25/11/6251 RT (2010 CE), added to From the Titans to the Titanic

---

The Birches and the Rowan Trees

Life has a thousand shades of grey; the dying
white skies have fled the sunset's ruby strings,
and from the hills of morning I've been flying
so long now that I cannot feel my wings.
And still we watch the others and remember:
the birches and the rowan trees have painted our November.

The year has gone to sleep now, only after
it raised the bushy brow of humankind
once more, and yet the merriment and laughter,
the rowan and the birch are left behind.
But still we watch the others and remember:
the birches and the rowan trees have painted our November.

21-22/11/6251 RT (2010 CE), added to Spirit of Beauty

---

Drinking and Flying

(Tune: The Sky is Crying)

Drinking and flying,
look at the port roll down my beard.
Drinking and flying,
look at the port roll down my beard.
'One billion Christmas drinks already -
let's compare noses', Rudolph sneered.

I rub my eyes after Melbourne:
'This early there should be no planes!'
I rub my eyes after Melbourne:
'This early there should be no planes!',
and I feel so drunk
that I lose control of the reins.

I got a bad feeling, my reindeer,
since that shabby old Cessna appeared.
I got a bad feeling
since that shabby old Cessna appeared.
Now no longer flying,
the blood rolling down my beard.

22/11/6251 RT (2010 CE), added to Christmas Carols for Working Class Parents

---

Anthem of the Beatles Day Born

It's been a hard day's night, and when the Beatles got their due
after a straining flight, our mothers were in labour, too.
And when they got off that plane and saw the town go insane,
it made them feel all right.

When we commenced to drool, the band that everyone debates
returned to Liverpool from their big tour around the States.
And when they heard someone say that they were stars from that day,
it made them feel real cool.

When you're born everything seems to be right,
when you're born, born on the Beatles' great night, night...

11/11/6251 RT (2010 CE), added to Away and Back

---

Airspace Violation

(Tune: Fields of Athenry)

By a lonely airport wall I heard a young girl calling:
Santa, they are taking you away!
Controlled airspace you did cross
where the ATC is boss,
so they've booked you, and in prison you will stay.

Low fly the birds across the sky
where once we watched the sleigh passing by
with reindeer on the wing,
we had Christmas songs to sing.
It's so lonely where the headstones meet the sky.

By a lonely prison wall I heard a young guard calling:
Bend down, Santa, or you'll ne'er be free!
With a baton and a frown
he took aim and clubbed him down,
unconsciousnessprecipitatingly.

Low fly the birds across the sky
where once we watched the sleigh passing by
with reindeer on the wing,
we had Christmas songs to sing.
It's so lonely where the headstones meet the sky.

By a lonely churchyard wall she watched the last star falling
as the coffin bearers slowly passed her by.
Sure she'll wait and hope and pray
for a successor one fine day.
It's so lonely where the headstones meet the sky.

Low fly the birds across the sky
where once we watched the sleigh passing by
with reindeer on the wing,
we had Christmas songs to sing.
It's so lonely where the headstones meet the sky.

5/11/6251 RT (2010 CE), added to Christmas Carols for Working Class Parents

---

Leaving the Nest

In Joseph's small carpentry shop on Rogue Alley
his son dropped his hammer and opened his gob:
'I've had it to here! I'll be leaving this valley
today, and I'll look for a different job!'

'And what will you do?', asked his father with patience
and picked up the cross that his son angrily
had thrown to the floor. 'You've no qualifications -
there is a great future in carpentry!

'We do not take orders, we are our own bosses,
and yesterday morning our workload increased:
another large order for two hundred crosses
came in from the Romans; they must plan a feast!'

'I hate making incense cases from briar
and crosses from dogwood and tables from pine:
I want to go out and become a messiah
and fix this bad world and become the Divine!

'Do not try to stop me, I'll leave on the double!',
but Joseph stayed calm and said 'Listen to me!
Messiahs are homeless and always in trouble,
and people despise them for what they can see.

'Messiahs do not get their salaries weekly,
not many disciples will follow their call;
I know you will fail, and I know you will meekly
return to your cross, son, in no time at all!'

1/11/6251 RT (2010 CE), added to Nail on the Head

---

Spring in Kilmainham

The daffodils' petals turned red in Kilmainham,
the vernal tranquillity came to an end,
and cowslip and furze voiced their paschal anger
with violet and bluebell all over the land.

The daffodils roared as the iron shepherd
led lambs to the slaughter for standing their ground.
A daffodil's petals must never be trod on;
the following springtime no shepherd was found.

16-17/10/6251 RT (2010 CE), added to High Kings and Taoiseachs

---

Cold War Cafe

In the Cold War Cafe on campus we met
every night, the straight and the queer,
said hello to our friends, sat down and lit up
and drank beer that tasted of beer.
We were discussing the downfall of music,
how Kim Basinger's hair was curled,
the superpowers and all the horrors
if either took over the world.

In the Cold War Cafe on campus we mused;
at our table we didn't stint
on our criticism and talked about
what the press weren't allowed to print.
To escape unemployment, a lot of young men
whom History hadn't taught
volunteered for the army, for they were convinced
there'd be no more wars to be fought.

In the Cold War Cafe on campus we told
the jokes some are posting with glee
anonymously on the net,
because there was no PC.
We laughed at hilarious comedies
that no one dare filming today
since the euphemism language police
would see them get carried away.

In the Cold War Cafe till late at night
we'd smoke and drink and plot,
and our most traumatic experience
was the day John Lennon got shot.
When we learned of injustice anywhere
in the world, which often occurred,
we left our drinks and went out on the street
to let our voices be heard.

We didn't think that the world could change
(except for the better, of course);
the Cold War Cafe was where we'd be
until it closed its doors.
And now that a generation has passed,
there's a different neighbourhood,
and I found a recycling facility
where the Cold War Cafe once stood.

15-16/10/6251 RT (2010 CE), added to That's the Way It Is

---

Living with Pluto

Venitia, having had her breakfast, hovered
around the table where, intensively,
her granddad read the paper: 'They've discovered
another planet which we can not see
and seek a name for it.' - With a bright spark
the girl unwittingly approached the portals
of fame: 'I'd call him Pluto - he is dark
and makes himself invisible to mortals.'

A lifetime afterwards it has been noted
that Pluto was no planet, and instead
it was discussed that he should be demoted.
Asked her opinion, the old lady said:
'I'd like him to remain a planet, yet
I guess it doesn't really matter whether
he is or isn't.' - Shortly after that
Venitia and her godchild left together.

13-14/10/6251 RT (2010 CE), added to From the Titans to the Titanic

---

The Aftertaste of Santa's Draft

(Tune: Danny Boy)

Oh Santa Claus, the pipes, the pipes are calling,
because the Pole's at war with Pakistan
to rid the world of combative religion,
and you've been drafted just like every man.
So you went off and killed their congregation
and bust the skulls of those who were misled,
and you smoked out the terrorists and punished
those of wrong faith until a heat stroke killed you dead.

But you have died in service of your country
to save the world and Christmas from their foe,
and after fearless troops retrieved your body,
you lie interred beneath eternal snow.
Oh Santa Claus, you've lived and died as hero
for all mankind and for your fatherland,
and if this Christmas you don't bring us presents,
we know that every little child will understand.

9/10/6251 RT (2010 CE), added to Christmas Carols for Working Class Parents

---

Canicidal Fantasy

'Twas the most pleasant of all noons
within the perfect dream. That day
the birds were heard, the footpaths clean,
and all the playgrounds safe for play.

We celebrated in the streets,
embraced and sang for all it's worth,
and everyone rejoiced: 'The dogs,
the dogs have vanished from this Earth!'

The barking ceased - in peaceful parks
again we heard the joyful birds,
and those who walk no longer walked
a slalom round the smelly turds.

The air was light and Life was good.
The children ventured out and then
reclaimed their playgrounds, knowing they
would never be attacked again.

Nobody knew, of all the vets
and experts who were unprepared,
how all this planet's dogs had died
within one night, and no one cared.

But I examined several dogs
to have this miracle unfurled
and bring the recipe along
for testing in the real world.

Yet I woke up before I solved
the canicide's sweet mystery,
because my neighbour's mutt had barked
me back into reality.

7-8/10/6251 RT (2010 CE), added to Nail on the Head

---

The Mum of Halloween

As the local crime reporter
once I had my time of glory
when they captured Psycho Corter,
and I was there a the scene -
since then I haven't had a thrilling story
until I found the Mum of Halloween.

It all started when Jane Rafter,
journalist, fell past my office
on the thirteenth floor. Thereafter,
with a thud, she hit the ground;
they gave the story to some callow novice
and left me once again with Lost and Found.

She was popular and wealthy,
she had seen all lands and nations,
was successful, young and healthy
while I struggled fruitlessly:
a miracle with lavish decorations
could have sufficed to keep my job - maybe.

As I walked back home, the city
was engaged in speculation,
and her suicide caused pity
everywhere. Back home from town
I found a parcel; with anticipation
I lit the fire, unwrapped it and sat down.

In a note Jane Rafter told me
how she loved my work on Corter,
that she hated how they sold me
out, and that she wanted me
to publicise her scrapbook as reporter
who does not bow to pleb nor bourgeoisie.

In her scrapbook she admired
old Liz Bathory, the lady
by whose deeds she was inspired
and whose record she would break:
'Six hundred fifty is not bad, My Lady,
but you got caught for making a mistake.

'I got thousand, unsuspected,
and won't hear the condemnation
of the masses. I corrected
flaws that caused the others' fall:
they chose one type of victim, one location,
and just one single way to kill them all.

'Children, men and women perished
by my knife, my hands, my pistol,
poison, rope and my most cherished
baseball bat that bears my name,
from Nuuk to Perth and from Okhotsk to Bristol;
nobody thought the killer was the same.

'No one ever killed as many
as I did by constant moving,
and I do not think that any
other person ever will.'
She had attached the victims' pictures, proving
she was the one who made each single kill.

'Why pick me?' - I felt like crying.
Suddenly the air grew chiller,
and the fire was nearly dying;
not supporting her desire
to be the world's most famous serial killer,
I threw her note and scrapbook in the fire.

2/10/6251 RT (2010 CE), added to The Miracle of Mortality

---

Conclusions

The farmer sowed his field one sunny day.
The crows said: 'Look, he feeds us!' and swooped down.
The farmer pulled his gun, and with a frown
he shot the crows and carried them away.

'He's trapped us', croaked the chief. 'Go out and see
whether he eats them or just wants their hide.'
Two fledglings left, returned and said: 'They died
to fill a hole behind the chestnut tree.'

'That is disgraceful', said the chief. 'He killed
our friends to fill a hole? Let's gather wood
and leaves and twigs, and soon enough we should
finish his task and have the hollow filled.'

And so the hole was covered to the brim.
The chief announced: 'The farmer won't require
another crow. Eat to your heart's desire;
there's no more cause to be afraid of him!'

A crow swooped down and pecked a grain before
the farmer's very eyes. He looked the same
way that he looked before and took his aim
and shot her while the others watched in awe.

And as the farmer carried off the crow,
the chief just gulped and uttered: 'Here's the thing -
there's nothing wrong with deductive reasoning,
but it appears there's factors we don't know.'

- - - - - - -

Behind the tree, the farmer shook his head
as he disposed of her and saw the close
arrangement in the hole: 'God love those crows -
who would have thought they bury their own dead?'

2/10/6251 RT (2010 CE), added to That's the Way It Is

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Jackie the Midwife

Jacqueline, a midwife in London,
shrunk back and grew pale as a ghost:
of all the things she was scared of,
a breech birth she feared the most.

She carefully pulled, and she twisted
until she delivered his head;
she saw his blue face as she severed
the cord, and she knew he was dead.

And Tess, his unfortunate mother,
was smiling: ‘I have to admit
this child would have been quite a burden:
thank God you got rid of it!’

Back home Jackie hung her head, sighing:
‘I’ve made a mistake I despise
myself for, but how could a mother
delight in her baby’s demise?’

She tried to forget it, but people
would shun her or spit in her face,
the pub down the road wouldn’t serve her,
she was out of work within days.

One night Tess’ friend Polly approached her:
‘I am in a terrible mess!
I hope you’ll be able to help me;
you were recommended by Tess.’

She guessed what the woman expected.
If not me, she thought, someone else
will do it. I won’t save the baby,
so I’ll do as my conscience compels.

‘No problem, my dear’, Jackie answered,
‘I’ve got all my tools’, and she smiled:
‘I’ll do it right here in that gateway’,
slit her belly and ripped out the child.

A week later she ran into Annie
who’d liquidised most of her wage:
‘Oh, can you imagine the shame of
getting pregnant again at my age?

‘Tess said you could fix it’, she babbled
and was dragged to a yard. In the space
of seconds she lost her intestines
which were scattered all over the place.

Long Liz delivered a message
to Jackie one evening: ‘It’s Kate.
Tess told her about you; she’s hoping
you’ll help her before it’s too late.

‘She’ll wait in the yard or the driveway
of the workers’ club around one’,
so Jackie got out her equipment
to get yet another job done.

The yard was pitch-black. In the darkness
she tried to find Kate anyhow.
A voice said: ‘I’m here’, and she answered:
‘Let’s get this over with now!’

She grabbed her shawl, and she wrestled
the woman down to the ground
and cut her throat in an instant,
because she could hear a faint sound.

A carriage rolled into the driveway,
showing Jackie that she’d been remiss:
in the flickering light of its lantern
she noticed the woman was Liz.

On Mitre Square half an hour later
she froze as she ran into Kate.
‘I’m sorry, I was with a client;
did Liz not ask you to wait?’

‘The square’, Jackie answered, ‘is quiet,
I think we can do it right here.’
She took out her guts and her baby
and cut off her nose and her ear.

One day Mary Jane went to Jackie:
‘Tess told me how helpful you’ve been...’ -
‘I’ll meet you tonight at the stable’,
she replied with a bitter grin.

‘I’ve got my own lodgings. Please see me
tonight between three and four.’
When Jackie arrived with her toolkit,
Mary Jane came to answer the door.

‘I’m glad I’ve my room’, she told Jackie
as she carelessly kicked off her shoes
and undressed from the neck to the ankles,
‘with that terrible man on the loose.’

She spread her legs on the mattress,
unaware of her pending doom,
and Jackie, with well-placed incisions,
removed her child and her womb.

Since then, no one else came to Jackie,
yet no one informed the police;
henceforth the Whitechapel harlots
have lived in relative peace.

22-24/09/6251 RT (2010 CE), added to The Miracle of Mortality

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© Frank L. Ludwig

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