They hung him up, the old man
And twisted their fists inside his guts.
The boy, they flayed
In front of his dying mother.
Next, the men – the dark unknown men,
Marched to a house down the road,
Ski-masked, rope-ready,
Thinking of bounty and hot suppers,
Thinking of booty like the old days
When the prophet made hot promises to his
Band of brothers.
They reached the house, the dark men.
And under the influence of adrenalin,
Smashed their way to the living room.
They were greeted by a fresh crop
Of Kalashnikov bullets
That pierced hot holes
In their sweat-bathed bodies.
Less than an hour passed before
Stray dogs sunk their teeth in a feast
Of hot scrotum.
And a child, next door,
Marked the summer night
With her shrieks.

Hassan Abdulrazzak

If you have any comments on this poem, Hassan Abdulrazzak would be pleased to hear from you.