IN THE CAPITAL

The circular saw sings in memory of
the brick’s demise. In the capital
the electric drill spits dust for the scaffolding’s
plunder of the slick, sodden alley.

Unto man in the capital is appointed death.

The capital’s streets cobbled with horse hooves.
The capital’s storm drains plugged with pigs’ hair.
The capital’s municipal pools filled with ox blood.
To the capital death has come to offer

judgement. Patricide arrives here early
on knobby knees, quietly carrying water.
Across its back walks Punishment. Soon both
are tied in a sack with one monkey, one cock,

and one serpent. Together the five are cast
into the sea. The capital greets her
with wheat sheaves and ginger in its mail slots.
In the capital it is required of each pilgrim

who walks near her to fling pine pitch
over their shoulders and onto the faces
of the penitents stumbling close behind.
A procession in her honor is held in this way.

As pitch leaks under their hair-shirts, stinging their
raw backs, each filthy penitent mouths an oath
of thanks to her. She is hoisted up to a balcony
suspended above the boulevard

by a wrought iron chain run through
the nose of a bronze buffalo. Shirtless
flagellants scourge themselves in protest of this.
The crowd stops suddenly. The pilgrims

mount upon the penitents’ shoulders.
She watches as a young boy is passed
from the back of the procession over
the heads of the penitents. The crowd is

quiet while the boy is passed closer.
She sees that his ears have been burned, and that his
head has been shaved. The boy is passed closer.
She sees that he is naked and

his teeth have been filed. The boy is passed
closer still. She sees that his genitals have
been painted gray. The crowd is quiet
and the boy is lifted up to the balcony.

The boy stands in front of her, smiling.
With the back of his hand he wipes his nose.
She looks past the boy to the crowd which
looks past the boy up to her. The boy pulls

his right leg from its joint with a pop
and offers it up to her. She smiles.
The boy smiles again. She takes the leg
from the boy with her mouth by the ball end.

The boy wipes his nose again. He pulls
his leg from her mouth and returns it with a pop
to his hip. Unto man in the capital
is appoined uncertainty. Around each neck

in the capital are strung pebbles that
remind her of the wooden testicles
of the horse that carried St. James
over the wooden and rolling heads

of the Moors. Punishment is found with
the company it kept. The flaggelants protest this.