The Tale of Two Cities

7Feb2010

And with the crowd hurling refuse and rotten vegetables
cursing in their vernacular French
did he reflect on life lived?
It is doubtful.
The worst is not to reflect on all that was
and now cannot be
nor the shame to once be landed gentry now disgraced
nor the sensational cart ride through Paris
clattering cobbestones through the crowd
to the square

the worst was facedown on that wooden contraption
waiting.
waiting for that rusted triangle of iron
waiting for gravity
waiting for the coup de grace. 

The chaos and noise was in the background
and the consequences
before and in front of him
in the wicker baskets and the sticky pools
and that strong aroma of iron and salt
and the charges read out to the jeering masses
were but perfunctory
It was not Death that was the worst
for that was a certainty
He was not so proud as to believe himself better than the guillotine
It was simply waiting.
Would they had done it with a flintlock or a bayonet or hell... a pitchfork, on the lawn of the Manor house, now burning.
Surely it was the waiting for what was certain that made this whole Revolution
unbearable.

Were they almost finished? Would they fall silent and then cheer afterwards?
It was but a symbol, nothing personal
His allegiances had been handed down from father to son, from King to noble, a hundred years ago and a hundred years before
They were not his crimes
it was merely that the justice demanded for those long past years
fell upon him
as the iron clattered downwards
and the waiting finally ceas-