1.

The Stocks

A child was in the stocks, but no-one threw
a rock, or used that dreadful whip with nine
thin tails of hide. A laughing parent drew
the bar, and helped release his child... but mine
just stood and looked with widened eyes. She knew
what stocks were for, and on her brow a fine
damp film appeared. She did not laugh, but grew
too quiet...whispered softly...touched my spine.

The blood was here, and here a dark red line
where he was cut. The whip had cut right through.
A warder said, ‘Confess’ so that he’d sign;
I heard him moan, ‘I did it. Yes, it’s true!’

Perhaps the tale was in a book she’d read,
but still, when we drive by, she turns her head.

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The Gallows

The thirteen steps that lead from ground to noose
are only steps, just planks of wood, so why
should they instil this sense of dread, induce
in me a fear I cannot justify?

My eyes touch every step; compelled, I place
my feet as if to feel each tread. Although
I stand unmoving at the gallows’ base,
I’ve been up there, have seen the mob below.

Eight men from here were made to dance on air,
all murderers, or so the law decreed,
and as they climbed these steps, did black despair
erase the hope that still, they might be freed?

Today the crowds pass by without a care,
can no-one see the corpses hanging there?

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