One of Them Will Have to Go
Acrylic on canvas board 9" x 14"
A retired educator, Dave Sims makes art and music in the old mountains of central Pennsylvania. See more atwww.tincansims.com
Agents
Erik Watson
Of utmost importance he was a devil. First a smoky soul, but now this tempter Is a fallen star like the lightning Fiend Flung from steepled heaven, cursed, drowning In currents of time’s metastasis, Like cities lost to flood, whole pillars and fallen Faces that rescue those departed ancients From erasure. We watch his poison cult Follow the meteor arc, yoked to his fiery Wain they sneer at the widow, the stranger From somewhere, bind the mothers, her children Watching the while. They beat senseless the man Of another tongue whose crime was to cook, Was to shingle the roofline, to claw a life Back from his misfortune, caprice, Vagaries of geography, of the land, Accidents of birth. Rendition with no Food and little water, cold floors, no beds, Or Blankets for warmth, they lock them away Like men consign a corpse to the tomb. "For there is nothing concealed that will not Be revealed, and nothing hidden that will Not be known.” The geographies of time Will unfold and indict, they will blame Their guilt on other men, it was a job They will say, nothing more, we had our mandates Played the Otto Ohlendorf, took our pay. They will smile for the photo and relate How they were trained to never-mind the eyes, The cries, the faces, the games they play For pity’s sake. It was a job, for iron workers In an Age of metal men and civic pay.
