they rejected the sentence that he proposed—
the reward of a distinguished citizen:
honourable maintenance at public expense
(he figured he was at least as valuable
as the jock who won the chariot race
at the Olympics)
—and decided again, on death

so he sits, the same, in that stone cell
reaching for the hemlock,
still speaking out,
arm upraised—
surrounded not by that group of hysterical men
weeping and wailing, flailing about

but by everyone ever charged
with neglecting the gods of the state—
Pope Joan and Joan of Arc
Galileo and Darwin
Thoreau and Russell and all the men
who would not be soldiers
Katya Komisaruk and the Greenham women
the Temagami defenders and various Greenpeacers
or corrupting the morals of the young—
Goody Glover, Oscar Wilde
Rosa Parks, Margaret Sanger
Nikki Craft, Morgentaler

even as a mural, covering all four walls
there is not enough room
for those who question, examine, expose
for the good of the people who arrest them,
imprison them,
kill them—

no wonder, this time,
it's his middle finger
that's jabbing the air

__

[More like this in Paintings and Sculptures, available for download (at no charge) at chriswind.net]