Brad Evans
in 1936
I heard
what they did to you
little man,
dragged you
across the gravel
to
an olive grove
where they sat you down,
knees bleeding.
and then I heard
what they did to you
little man,
their anger and national lust
was called
‘an order’ and they
left you there,
ripe
as raw meat
in a red puddle
lapped carelessly
by the Espagniole
sun...
and now, little man,
look at you!
your butchers
are
forgotten, dry
clay
and you,
FEDERICO
GARCIA
LORCA
this whole century is now
dying
and your
parched lips
won't
stop speaking
Page(s) 117-118
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