Justice
Rough—re: Battleford, SK, 9.ii.18
Tell
me I’m wrong again. Tell me I’m wrong again.
Justice ought to mean
how there are no feckless accidents.
What
seems like justice shows up late or not at all.
Allegedly what looks
nothing like justice tried to jack
the
next-door neighbours’ used pickup. Retribution
miscarries what passes
for bad justice, a claw hammer
smashed
through someone else’s windshield. Feels like justice
starts to take shape
in blinkered loss. Seems like justice got clocked
point
blank in the back of the head. What starts to feel
like justice flubs and
fails to take. Surely justice sounds like
a
blithe excuse for cold payback. Sounds like justice
could do nothing much
worse. Surely what passes more or less
for
justice looks like a rough coat of cheap whitewash.
Tell
me I’m wrong. Tell me I’m wrong. Tell me I’m wrong, again.
