Six Seconds

One hundred days, one million people:
ten thousand deaths per day.

The killers consider it a job:
Gukora akazi, they say to each other;
Kujya ku kazi, to their wives.

They work by day, sleep at night.
The job requires speed,
so they press on.

Ten thousand a day,
fifteen-hour days—
that’s 666 per hour:
the mark of the beast.
Round down.

Six hundred per hour,
ten per minute,

six seconds

to chop a limb, slice an artery,
start the graveward journey with rape,

to pile stones on the living,
force a husband to kill a wife,
or a woman her child,

to pour gasoline, strike the match.

Breathe in, breathe out—one is dead;

breathe in, breathe out—another.

Every six seconds

for one hundred
interminable
days.