Six Tercets for the Executioner

I think you may have drowned me in your wine,
Forgetting I was there the whole damn time
You built Dionysus a glassy, empty shrine.

In Saturnalia festivities that passed each night,
You drank, still laughing at my childish plight.
Shameless, you made our home a burial site.

A crucifix or rusty guillotine I could withstand
When called to testify upon the witness stand,
I’d rather die by Brazen Bull than by your hand.

You were the first to cast a heavy stone.
I should have known, I should have known.
I’ll go and nurse my fragile, broken bone.

Now I can scarcely breathe or stay abreast
amidst the jolly frankness of your drunken jest.
You threw me in the deep without a vest.

I’ll chant a humble prayer to holy gods divine
before succumbing to the violent and stormy brine.
I think you may have drowned me in your wine.

~ Violetta Nikitin

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