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Dan Boucher

History cites

his last words

as a scribble passed

through iron bars:

“Don’t mourn, organize!”

But history has got it wrong

yet again.

His last word echoes,

louder than bullets

through gunsmoke.

Sunshine dancing on

polished steel barrels

pointed at his chest,

the audience squints,

straining to see

the target’s hands

tied behind his back

facing the blood-stained wall

The captain barks the countdown:



Joe Hill

would take a bow if he could,

but instead

calls out the final command:



Also by Dan Boucher

The Wrong War


In Case of Fire, Break Glass

a Weatherman Waits

They Had the Nerve to Call Us Associates

Purcellville Et Cetera

Polar Bears

Cough It Up, You Assholes

Pepperoni Calzone