Blind-Fold

A Quatrain poem on justice

Blind Fold

A Firing squad loads magic bullets

They aim rifles at the patriot on display

A black robed judge stands between them

Counting unfolded dollar bills in green

The wall is full of so many empty holes

Place your fingers in them for evidence

Make a wish but make it quick

The show is about to begin

Justice is so righteous in the morning hours

When men in pretty military uniforms are firing

Smoke lifts with something so innocently forgotten

What about a cigarette and blindfold for our friend?

Any final requests before breakfast?

No need to start again, there are no witnesses

Ammo costs money and justice is swift

Fingers get itchy at times like this