Just Another Day Poem by Bert Bell

It happened at a roadside
quarry near Pyongyang― some
of the dead were bloodied,

and still standing facing
the wall― others, who had
fallen like dominoes,

lay face-down at the base
of the blood-stained
limestone, dreams

never to be realized,
their crimes― conjoining to study
unauthorized contraband

books on Greek philosophy―
nearby, some uniformed workers
with picks and shovels

worked feverishly, digging
a mass grave, while
a smirking Kim Jon Un looked

on, waving like a bobblehead
dashboard ornament from
the back seat of a refurbished

old Mercedes limousine―
the workmen, and the soldiers
who supervised them, bowed

with matching sycophantic
grins, out of respect,
and to glorify their supreme

leader, as if his presence were
the only thing that mattered
on that day― it's an old,

and always astonishing story
of mad, evil men who rise
to power, and rule their oppressed

subjects with cruelty and abuse,
and always to satisfy some
delusional sense of entitlement

as they travel ever-further
along the broad road that
leads to their own destruction.