Jaye Marie and Anita Dawes

Justice, no more than a roll of the dice

An acid tongued judge, passing judgement

On other people’s lives

Often without knowing the true story

As to how this poor soul stood in the dock

I leave the jury room, outside, the hail hits me

On the back of my neck

I act instinctively, run for cover

Safe, I scratch the back of my neck

It feels sore. Acid rain maybe.

I know where I would rather be

I need to burrow under my duvet

Forget the world, for me it often runs too fast

I hate the feeling of being the one

To tamper with someone’s problems

I judged him guilty on the evidence given

Too fast, his life now behind bars

Maybe I will bake a cake with a file hidden inside

So, he can hack his way to freedom

No one knew I had been living with this man

For the past ten years, on ill-gotten gains…

©Anita Dawes