the writing on the wall

anne frank was right.
in spite of everything, she still believed
that people are good at heart.
they’re always willing to help
end the misery of
so many godforsaken lives.
a single bullet here,
a knife plunging in there,
a few blows with a rusty pipe.
sometimes that’s all it takes,
effortless, powerful nonetheless.
ah, these simple acts of goodness.
at times they can be ingenious too,
for goodness knows no bounds:
rooms and rooms of liberating gas;
warm, cavernous furnaces;
gigantic, photogenic, luminous clouds;
two babels of singing fire.
but nothing can beat
the bashing in of a skull,
for who knows what evil lurks inside.
it might spring out
and crawl on the ground
and multiply
to put an end
to all this goodness of the heart.

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