The winking judges
always said,
“A mystery! This kiddie’s dead.”
And the county folk bowed low their heads.
Some to snicker, some to dread.
Cause sometimes parents come to court,
And say the other, coke, does snort,
then ‘friendly’ Black Robes will retort:
“Nope. Too lovely. Not that sort.”
Or parents claim “I was at work
when the one at home did go berserk.
And if at night I would have woken,
I couldn’t know those bones got broken!
If I had I would have spoken!
It would all my strength have sapped,
his shin and thigh bones to have snapped.
It must have happened when I napped
after my boyfriend’s pot I tapped.”
Long-term abusive malnutrition?
Not with MY love and intuition!
I was just young and impositioned.
And you’ll believe me cause now I’m older.
(If you don’t look inside that folder
with the photos so horrific,
you’ll swear, that I, am just terrific!)
And now Judge at his little school
he breaks a very sacred rule
by making me look very cruel
by writing he’s afraid he’ll die.
But we all know the reason why.
Must be some foster parent lie!
So in the manner of Bexarly thinking
Black robes started quickly inking:
“This child, at mom’s, was starved and hit
(but our cash backers would us quit,
if we dare say she is unfit.)
So, kind Fosters, give him back,
(Yes mom, in the open can now him smack)
Don’t shake your head like we’re on crack!
It’s just his high cost of living,
while we remain in the black.
So the county folk, bowed low their heads,
mom’s lawyer snickered,
and my boy,
is dead.
But each grown-up awakens,
and this coffee, does smell.
A judge sending babies back into hell
will snuff out anyone as well.
Child Abuse 