A Stoning Poem by Jean Bernard Parr

the moon I grabbed
between clouds
the walking wounded
this raddled and
tragic moon, sports
the pox
all exaggerated in her
pale kabukki make-up
so injured
take your eye away
and weep for the eons of pain
in those sharp craters
that something so bright
so big should suffer
this eternal drive-by,
you get a sense
of what it was like
that day on Golgotha
laughter and jeering
a casual spear thrust
and the taking
a long time to die
well its the same
with this moon
she got a stoning
like that girl on U-tube
these wise old men
from the village
and with a rock
dash the brain as
her mouth makes
soundless words
they pulled her skirt
over her legs
for the sake of modesty
don't tell me it doesn't
feel, this body
the one you're
standing on does