She sleeps sound, not knowing the angst
That keeps him awake with the fear and doubt
Of the kind freedom fighters take into themselves
When the order to kill is being carried out.

Kitty, dear Kitty. Soft. Gentle. Fragile feather.
Are you dreaming of holidays by the white-blue Med?
Do those dreams of yours stray to revolutions that
Your Man executes with a flag from within your bed?

Stop breathing Kitty. Listen to your Man’s deep sigh
Then the silence, as he stops too. Pulling the trigger featherily
In the mind. And again. Two to the head. Dead.
All from your bed. Kitty? Pretending to sleep, tenderly?

Every bed in every cottar’s blackened huis a ravel.
All humankind ever to be pretending that somehow
The only hope in a lover’s revolution is that yesterday
Your beginning was infected with an ending?

The better for you sweet Kitty and for your bairny’s sake
Is if the freedom fighter within you sleeps and never awakes.