Murder

I was not the criminal.
He was somewhere else.
Still, I was among people who knew enough
To look and listen and hold the scales of justice
In their palsied hands.

The courthouse clock was a marvel of stability,
Its hands unmoving the livelong day.
Down below Frankie got himself stabbed in the rain
While Johnny drank Sterno straight from the can.

“I will kill you all,” he stood and shouted.

“When you rise to the level of your own deceit,
You better just sit yourself down again,”
The assembled shouted back,
Summoning a strength that was not their own.

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