The
                            granite
                         stone slipped
                      first backwards and
                    then sideways, crushing
                 legs and arms as it slid from
              misplaced rollers and left behind a
            pulp of red and agonized cries. But the
          driver didn’t care at all, he simply traced
        a pattern of pain through the air with his lash
      and copied it onto our backs in welts until we left
   them there to feed the vultures and the ants. The bastard
 knows his masters will approve of this bloody gift to Osiris.
    
                                                     February, 1977