Christmas Day, 1989
I was eight years old
Watching, on live television
The body of a dictator
The body of his loyal wife
Collapsed at awkward angles
Shot with their backs against the wall

Their hands tied, they died
A most undignified death
A river of crimson blood
Ran down the concrete
Away from her head
He was prone backwards
On his knees, head back

“Shame, shame,” she had told the guards
“I raised you like a mother”
As they tried to separate them
To shoot them one by one
As they tied their arms
Like they were animals
But they died together

She insisted on it…

…if that ain’t love