The blindness that calls itself Justice

Here are the brothers

who murdered my Grandmother.

Here is the coat

they bought with SSI

then forgot

at her house

after they murdered my Grandmother.

Here’s the nice stuff

that they took from her house

and then sold to get clothes

the night after

they murdered my Grandmother.

Here is the family

that watches the trial

of their sons

who murdered my Grandmother.

Here is the Father

who sucks air from a tank

who lets me go first

who humbles himself down

who looks grievous as I

cause he knows

his sons murdered my Grandmother.

Here is the talk

where I eavesdrop and hear

the Dad telling his kids

they can’t afford parking

cause they got towed before

so they can’t see the trial

of their brothers

who murdered

my Grandmother.

Here is my pocket

that holds a free pass

to the parking garage

because someone murdered

my Grandmother.

Here are the families, both of them victims: one family rich, whose pain is assuaged; one family poor, who gets no parade.

Here is the blindness that calls itself justice: helping the rich, ignoring the poor, though the money thing led them to kick in her door.

Here is the moment

where I hand my free parking

to the trembling hand

of the bloodshot-eyed father

of the boys

who murdered

my Grandmother.