We all saw them bloody Buddy’s nose,
throwing stones from cages trimmed
with concertina. Just stones and rages
with little else left to throw.
The insults, too. They shout gibberish
at us, which makes us laugh, because
they don’t speak a language
we can understand. Their idiom diffuses
in rough translation: strange, weightless curses,
scattered like tiny devils of sand.
We all saw Buddy’s nose break
beneath that stone, see,
and saw the blood drip down his lips
and trickle down his neck, drops of it falling
over the front of his plated vest,
where it dried and turned purple
as mashed raspberries. His eyes
were red, blank and confused,
and deep, deep, a hatred coming up
that has no language,
and knows no expression
but vengeance. I think I must have seen
red, too, what must have seemed must be.
I saw them bloody my buddy’s nose,
and I closed my eyes, and knelt. A prayer
flicked my tongue and lips, shuddered
me up and down. I opened my eyes again,
and stood. Then, one by one, I shot them down.
When I was the sword of David
