title: Courthouse Blues author: me Not all poems have to rhyme, especially when my mind rails against past injustice. Life on the line standing before the judge facing forty. Not no forty acres and a mule either, but four decades of time. Prison Grind. Instead of a call, Dad couldve came in, the military man, wearing his dress blues, pins, and medals. Wouldve made his mitigation more credible. And Mom said she didnt have no time to come down to no courthouse. Can you blame them? Theyve been in the courthouse since my adolescence. No Mom or Dad then, just me and my sin. Mom did write a letter though, claiming she believed me mentally ill. What a blow. But Ive been hit before. All my life as a matter of fact, by those whom I love. Didnt give the letter to the judge, that was the public defenders advice. His mantra: Hurt more than help. Both parents faltered and failed on my day of death. Moms letter? Unusable. Dads call? Wasted breath. They picked the wrong day to abandon ship. When I needed them most . . . they were absent. Alone in the courtroom, my heart a vast empty plain. My mind screaming with insane laughter, thus giving credence to my mothers claim.
Posted on: Wed, 03 Dec 2014 02:45:33 +0000
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