Just one piece—they will never notice
he whinnied as he secreted
the piece in his pocket
just before he ordered the summary
evisceration of his predecessor,
as black letters
slicked their greasy trail,
paving the way for war pipes
to rumble over ancient bones
turning in their sacred graves,
erected a golden fountain
to celebrate his glorious godhead,
released a hulking buzzard
to spread his substitute truths far and wide,
black letters streaking as he sentenced
countless faceless women to untimely deaths,
banished exiles, rattled sabres with foreign rulers,
gagged scientists, dismantled archives,
scorched the harried earth anew,
reinstated dungeons to reinforce his rule.
But little birds carrying older truths
rose into the darkening skies—
dodging bullets shot by his minion millions,
still they came in their hopeful pink flocks—
until he ordered every man, woman and child
to beat great empty oil drums,
and one by one,
famished and exhausted,
the little birds fell from the sky.
Yet a single pink canary survived—
which he plucked mid-flight,
stuffed into his voracious mouth
and smiled his victorious smile.
The people are hungry my Lord.
Let them feast upon my bread! he declared,
handing the peon a giant slice of empty air—
which would be instantaneously replicated
throughout the walled borders of his vast domain.
Just one more piece—they will never notice,
he muttered to himself
as he reached to snatch
the last star from the ravaged sky
and gorge upon its fire.
*An earlier version of this poem was first published in The Irish Times on 24 January 2018.
Anne Casey is the author of five poetry collections. Her work is widely published and awarded internationally, ranking in The Irish Times’ Most Read. She has a PhD in poetics of resistance from the University of Technology Sydney where she teaches creative writing. Find more from Anne at her website and at @1annecasey on social media.