I am handsome with a baby face, he said.
Fine boy, smooth skin, no pimples, upon his thin
frame. The smile which lit up his face,
the gentle voice which held a certain grace.
And yet iron is reflected in the recesses of his eyes,
the scars that loom in the pits of his pupils
irises, round, shimmering with fear,
that handsome face…i cannot bear to see it
And the prayer that one says
as tarmac roads loom in front of a rolling heat wave
is that justice would be delivered today.
That wisdom would come this way,
through the thin bars nailed into place,
an acknowledgement of the wrong, yet with space left for grace.
Prayer for Day 6: Justice and a quick case.