The seven day song cycle
One: the wisdom of Solamundy
em = By Tony Smith
This is the tale of a man called David.
At his black birth they estimated
that things seemed well enough on Monday.
Schooled, trained, but not indoctrinated
his heart still black as the night on Tuesday.
But there are those with whom
to be a friend makes you guilty. So,
wanting something to do on Wednesday
they decided his fate flak-jacketed
— no need for charge or trial — and
summarily carried it out on Thursday.
Grieved, tut-tutted, bad luck for a son
nobody's child orphaned by Friday.
Inquest over for the weekend burial —
wouldn't want to spoil the footy serial.
And one problem less at the pub on Saturday.
Nothing round here changes much, eh?
Wonder what they'll pray ... come Sunday.