Monday, February 23, 2009


Stepping through the door, the warden laid
A kindly hand upon Sanchez’ arm.
“Head up, son, and do not be afraid.

You will be most speedily conveyed
To your maker with angelic calm.”
Thus was the warden’s final card played.

Sanchez did not launch a loud tirade
Against this institutional smarm.
Arms outstretched and fingers tautly splayed,

He smiled at the warden’s masquerade,
Then turned to the door without a qualm.
The warden stepped out again, dismayed

At a law so archaic and unweighed.
Breathing deep, he turned on the alarm.
The door slid shut. He said a decade

Of the rosary. The far door made
No sound. The remnant of a last psalm
Died, as the full horror did pervade.

Like the bullet that killed the housemaid,
Spat in haste by his trembling firearm,
Sanchez shot into the cold arcade.

Monday, February 9, 2009

The final star

When the final star
Is just a dot behind you,
When you’ve gone as far
As anyone can go,
That’s the very place
The inner voice will find you
And God’s pure grace
Will doubtless start to flow.

When all ahead
Is night and night forever,
When light has fled
And darkness closes in,
He’ll come to you
E’en though you mightn’t ever
Have known the true
Indifference of sin.

And though the course
Is destined to end badly,
You’ll feel his force
Around you as you fly.
And when your ship
Begins to shudder madly,
He’ll smoothe your trip
And close your panicked eye.