by W. H. Shirk
We are equal opportunity impalers,
abusing all with equal impunity,
like insects gone mad we prey
on our own kind: steal from them,
shoot them, beat them senseless,
rape their virgins in the alleys,
abuse their babies in their cribs,
drown the religious, but first
(this will be good…) make them
watch as we drown their children;
invent the rack and turn the wheel,
hack them with machetes,
roast them on the gridiron,
burn them tied to poles,
or nail them into boxes filled with ticks;
this is us, a race of rapacious beasts
cursed with large brains and free will,
shorn of instinctual purpose and doomed
as no other creature to do as we please.
And look at him. This was done well:
nailed him naked to a piece of wood
and hung him up to rot, look
at the flies on his bloodied brow.
This cross is us, death r’ us,
an example of our best work
emblematic of who we are,
logo of the planet Earth.
And a warning to every other god:
don’t come here, we’ll kill you.
W. H. Shirk