EL BESO DE LA MUERTE

I know what it's like to be a stranger,

Frequently feeling endangered,

Picked over by predatory cultures,

Thirsting under circling vultures.

Life’s autumn brings dread and no respect,

Scorn meted out by the usual suspects,

Every disease, changed up into overdrive,

Street racing a futile will to survive.

Living forever is just a way of wanting more

Than grace’s gift of ten years plus three score,

And the rest of the world whispers leave us,

We don't want you here, old white men grieve us.

The photograph shows El Beso de la Muerte (Kiss of Death),

a sculpture located at Barcelona's Poblenou Cemetery.