Bodies pile up in the streets brigading a cardboard hysteria.
As voices compete from concrete witness stands-
their testimonies have nothing to win.
  Closets have been sighing for decades as hangers lose access to safe spaces,
and personal choices are inked in the wrong color of skin.
People are crying for Justice but she bears no sympathy
and no tears trace down her hardened cheeks.

Lady Justice had her eyes carved out long before we were tracing the streets with a new generations woe.

And Justice was supposed to be wiped clean of ugly Bronze Age philosophy.
But the dirt of old testaments will be forever embedded in her nails.
As she claws her way through people she is left not caring for the chalk outlines at her feet,
the ones that litter the street like hopscotch that children will never skip.

Picketers are screaming but she will never hear their cause.
Her eardrums were shattered in the last centuries cries of ruin.
She will only hear when the ballots speak.