Personal Blog

A Lynching
by Hugh O'Donnell

They came – as they often do –
amid sickly and grainy torchlight;
well aware that the world was knowing.

Ski-masked, they burgled
and bundled – a ‘smash and grab’.

Object: unshaven and hollow-
eyed; taunts were spat.

In the darkness
the moral high-ground collapsed
beneath a twisting and flickering
history and truth; vertically taut
and torqued sinews, slowly
and silently relaxed
as did
hidden entrails.

Tortilla’d in white, pickings for the news-
wires – digitised, desktop-downloadable
and executable…

…as the foundlings enacted no encore.

Oceans away,
parental consent competed with
Pimms for lifeless lips.

posted by Hugh O'Donnell @ 11:30 PM