Bystander

You
have
the right
to remain
silent, while a guard,
who is tall and polished, orders
a small boy to urinate on his kneeling father.

You
have
the right
to assume
some stooped procession
of gaunt men—prodded through the fields
at gunpoint—are off to cut and gather sunflowers.

You
have
the right
to believe
the thick, putrid smoke,
belching billow after billow
of black from the flues, means all day they are baking bread.

— Tony Leuzzi