Death Row

• Tymon Shih, Grade 10
• Poetry
• 2015

The man kneels motionless,
Forlorn like an abandoned toy
On the gravel, as his arrogant eyes
Bear against the snub-faced foes.

Strict noses stand aimed, tired and spent
On the chameleon skin of each rifle
Like bark-stripped branches,
Stern, still, silent and ready for the

Trigger. Suddenly, the lame bullets
Come to life, its metal rings
Torturing each naked atom in the
Sun-baked atmosphere.

People cry because today his son
Learnt that beet juice is also red.
But still, the man lies
Motionless.