The Falange,
they cut a crucifix on my palm,
‘to suffer the pain of Christ,’ they said,
blowing smoke into my face,
smiling that look of contented hate,
the blade glinting red with blood,
dripping drip drip drip onto the concrete floor.
The fools, to think such a fate would break my soul,
instead it broke my heart to know those men had lived next door,
played the skipping stones,
rode the wind,
innocent as the moonchild,
now corrupted, no less, by order of the Church,
and the cross they bore……
juandecadaqués 