untitled

I will never forget watching
that woman on TV with painted brows,

her hair dyed right out 
from the department store bottle, 

her shoes clacking on the hard wood 
floor, blow a breezy kiss from the palm 

of her hand at her shackled son, 
tethered to the defense table; 

she raised a hand for the oath 
and placed another on a holy 

book, then told the judge her son
confessed to killing a girl 

and throwing her doll body 
in the ocean, to satisfy his lust.

There was something in the bleak weather today that made me remember this.