A POEM FOR JOHN STEWART
In Los Angeles
The triple threat of California
Threw the first ball
And the season began.
II
The priest nodded
And took his seat
Inside the guards
Almost metal-like, smiled
Then took their seats.
Everybody has got their seats!
III
At twelve minutes after ten,
One witness pronounced
him dead
and it was over.
“It should be on television,
every execution should be
open to public eyes,â€
he said,
and that was all.
IV
He thought he was half way
between San Francisco
and Sacramento
somewhere he thought
His hands ached
from the cold
At the opening
of the road
the sky was opening and closing
like a lung
His nerves stiffened
like dried roots
He fell at the base
where the leaves were falling
like birds
one
by
one
And he crawling
belly down
the dried leaves
sucking
and sobbing
at his mouth
thick with scent
their veins stretching
almost child-like
crying
I am Jesus Christ