Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Nov 2015
It's the next killing already.
The scene has changed.

The camera is up in the guy's face.
He's tilting back in the car-seat
with his eyes closed and his arms back behind him.
The media is leaning their heads and their questions
as far over the yellow and black tape as they can,
and the killer is smiling.

Flash to the victim.
Little girl.  Age 10.
A little overweight maybe and her cheeks are too red.
Her glasses are too round for her face
and it makes her look even fatter.
But she was on her way back from
a youth group.  He lived right next door.

Death
without jury.  Down with the hammer, and justice
is served.

Flash to the family crying.
They're acting all prudish,
declining to interview.
A voice dubs over,
speculating
on the nature of her molestation
as someone shoves their microphone
into the mother's face.

Back to reporter.
He's fluttering eyes with the killer.
His sympathy comes
oozing out of the speakers.
It's all on my fingers
and I ask him how much I should swallow.
Written by
E Flint
386
 
Please log in to view and add comments on poems