The Dance

As I stand here
against the cold brick
wall, blindfolded, hands
tied behind my back,
I refuse the cigarette,
or any final request.
I have nothing to say
in my innocence. I'm
quiet to those that
accuse me of my crime.
I await the bullets
to enter my heart
to quickly bring my life
to an end. I show no
fear, nothing, not a drop
of sweat, no tears.
Instead I move my feet,
I find a dance, a jig, if you
will, and keep the feet
moving, faster and faster
in the dirt of early
morning. This startles
the men lined up with
rifles about to fire. They
look at one another
and nod with approval,
they laugh, they like this
dance that I do. I call it
the dance of death, although
not out loud, let them
guess what I call it. I'm
through giving and not
getting anything in return.
Maybe it's what got me
here. But I'm ready and I'm
dancing, dancing, dancing.