coup de grace
for a dying Zapatista,  January,  1994
             Lying, dying on the ground,
rival soldiers looking down,
such 'deja - vu' magic,  is fate.
Such hard foreign faces,
from strange, far-flung places,
that share his unsteady estate.
Mayan-cool distinction waited,
like his race, extinction-slated,
by compatriots.
Stepping then,  the weaker,  forward,
like a new world seeker shoreward,
fires the first shot.
- john  whitehead
to John
to Poets
to Moongate