Oliver Cromwell
They definitely made some special pies - 47 varieties.
I saw them piled up on the stalls as I shuffled past
With the mob to watch the action.

I stood aloof in the throng,
The air a heady mix of 
Body odour, lavender and decay.

We stood waiting in the muddy trench for
Almost two hours before the sledge appeared,
But a man cried out that it felt more like twelve years. 

The body swayed for four lilting hours
Before they slashed him down
For decapitation with eight stuttering strokes.

The crowd bayed as his crown was parted from 
The gruesome shrunken shoulders.
I was close enough to feel the draft of the axe splitting his neck.

Before I could vomit the cracking of
The pointed pole piercing his pate ushered from 
The gallows like a door gently opening.

And it was over, before I could enjoy it.
Another 47 types of pie would be eaten
Before his body went missing in the pit.   

Oliver Cromwell, English parliamentarian, head of state and soldier, was ritually executed today in 1661, more than 2 years after his death, on the same day that Charles I, who he deposed, was executed.

The 47 Ronin avenge that death of their master by killing Kira Yoshinaka, today in 1703.

One Comment Add yours

  1. blindzanygirl says:

    This is BRILLIANT. I am really interested in history, and to see it portrayed in poetry in this way is great. Fery oruginal

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