Next was a Lamb (or, Blake be Damned, and Milton, too)

Next was a Lamb (or, Blake be Damned,

and Milton, too)

       By Dan McGrue

John elbowed his way to the front of the line and when he’d gotten his bowl of porridge and cup of water he walked off by himself and ate.

“Prick,” the little modest man who had been waiting twenty minutes said. Beside him, Korzanski, also waiting, agreed.

“I don’t think he stands a chance,” Korzanski said.

They also serve who only stand and wait, God thought to Himself.

“They’ll hang him for sure,” the guard said to the warden in the warden’s office, looking out over the courtyard. “I don’t think he stands a chance.”

I shouldn’t be here, John thought to himself as he ate without looking at anyone. You have to make a heaven of your hell. He put his hands in his pocket and discretely pulled at his shorts to give himself more room.

William hovered around the prison forge waiting and then when the color turned four o’clock sun at harvest he clamped the tongs on and thrust it into the water. Steam. Olive oil in a hot frying pan. Thursday the church elders met to decide things. The Father for him was Destiny. No spirits dared walk abroad. Gad, what was he thinking! The five senses and Reason! for Pete’s sake. He reached into his pocket for a hanky to blow the soot from his nostrils. Next was a lamb.