View (2) by Stephen Keating

A concrete and glass tower 
commands the prison yard. 
From inside it 
men who have no souls 
look down on 
men who have no faces.
A plastic bag lies on the sidewalk. 
A guard stands beside it 
stiff as a flag on a golf course. 
From under the bag 
spreads an iridescent 
puddle of blood.
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