A Mass For The Guilty Poem by Andy Jenkins

Line the oblong hole in the dust dry earth
with the floppy shapes of the ‘once were living’.
Do not pause to think upon your labours,
this is not your flesh,
this is not your blood,
lob them in like sacks of rubbish -
thought is not your ally in this.

Sprinkle them with quicklime to hasten their way,
then use your shovels to cover your sins,
taking care that nothing remains:
neither witness nor photograph,
with your grey tunics and pale faces,
not a button, not a fingernail left
to tie you to this place of shame,
so if this page should come to light
you can say to your children:

I did not write this.
This page was written by the enemy.

And your children will believe you,
because they do not know who their enemy is.
And you will believe it,
because you cannot recognise yourself,
from that time so long ago,
when you stood by that oblong hole,
in the dust dry earth.