by Michael E. Palmer

These are the seconds we've given to death,
and this is the space provided.
Here are the gallows, the rope and the tree,
a call offstage, invisible cue;
this is the gas room, the death bed, the chair,
our last wave of hand, final flourish of gesture.
These are the glasses lifted in silence,
dark water, black sky, the climax, the gasp.

Here is resolution. The long walk.
Last dot of ellipses...
The end of a play that was average, could have been better,
and at last, the bringing together,
brief unions of hands.

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