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Wrongful conviction
Sweetened dung is shoveled down
gluttonous throats with eager appetites for
alleged misdeeds skillfully spun
into a frenzy of sensationalized hype
by media-seasoned reporters.
.
Seduced by speculation and hearsay,
a jury of pseudo-intellectuals assembles
neatly with moral turpitude tied
smug and tight around rigid white collars
stained heavy with sweat and anticipation.
She stands alone as the eyes of
the court pierce through her appraising
her posture and expression while
the echo of charges being read dissipates
with the smell of type ink and old mahogany.
Fragments of truth embellished
for shock-value and dramatic effect
spill forth as vomit
from confessional mouths
reeking of rot and fermentation.
Vulturous prosecutors rise in fluid
motion squawking accusations in
expert execution of closing arguments,
pecking apart flesh, unconscionably
scattering the meaty bones of her defense.
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