The Execution

I had a partial daydream in the dark of the night.

They drag me into the packed chapel;

pin my arms back and

hold me up against the brick wall.

“Shoot her!” the Bishop shouts.

A shot rings out.

No one cares.

Only I wasn’t as fat as I am now

for I had been in a tiny

windowless circular prison cell

for 20 years.

Just the day before,

I had declared:

“They can’t break my heart anymore

because I don’t want anything they’ve got.”

But they did.

Literally.