Cycle of Death

**This poem was inspired by the story of Richard Leavitt, who was executed at the Idaho Maximum Security Institution on June 12th, 2012.

If you think yourself “pro-life,”

Consider me and how my own life was taken

From me at the end of a cycle of death

That left the town of Blackfoot shaken.

I see her body- blood-caked- mutilated-

In my mind’s eye, which leaves me stricken

As I eat my final, tasteless meal

Of milk, fries, and baked chicken.

Evidence points to me as the killer-

Largely circumstantial, I must say-

I cut my finger that same night,

And was seen near her house that day.

The officers- the pallbearers-

Come to carry my gurney to a table.

The medical team gives me IVs

To keep me nice and stable.

I’ve mutilated deer before with a knife,

And I’ve changed my story once, years ago.

A polygraph said I had no guilt.

It doesn’t matter in Idaho.

My breathing and heart rate are monitored closely,

And my arms are well-cleaned with alcohol

In case the execution is somehow called off

And I won’t die after all.

Many have called me perverted-

Well, death row may have made me so.

For twenty-six years I have waited

For my final, fatal blow.

Four reporters come to watch me die.

I do not meet their eyes.

I deny a final statement.

They think I tell naught but lies.

You say pro-life means respect and dignity

From human conception until death;

Yet what have you done to change my fate?

So today I must take my last breath.

Killing is met with killing-

The two fatal needles are inserted.

The cycle of death is continued-

Will a grave threat be truly diverted?

The fatal dose is administered.

I can barely think, “Amen”

When before my time, I stand before God

To be judged for my actions again.