“ why would he do that? “ the victim’s mother screamed.

Saltwater tears fell to the wooden floor.

Silence for a moment.
Then speech from the witness.

” I don’t know! I just saw him with ****** hands! “

I took a long look at the man whom they call ‘ the criminal ‘.

He had a smirk on his face
He said nothing
But I knew what he was saying

“ what other proof do we have aside from the witnesses? “ I enquired.

“ a woman saw him in a shop, stealing a knife and slipped it in his belt. “

“ and I recognise him from a picture on a trophy shelf. “

Silence again.

The sentence comes
The volcano erupts
He explodes
He yells
He pleads
Nothing can convince the guards
Who have no mercy or heart
The guns of the firing squad
The holder of ropes
The press of a button

Silence
We take our leave
I get home
More silence
Knock knock
No one is home

I let out the sigh I held in
I take a glass of sweet whisky
I sleep.
I dream of ****** hands,
A knife in a belt
And a wanted poster on a trophy shelf.