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YOU SIT

You sit in a grey hall and sounds
like justice gavel against the granite.
The stone pitted by so many children's
tears. The justice blind to your needs
and fears. Only minutes to pry
away a parent that gave you the years.

Husband and wife till death do they part.
The parting is premature and death
has nothing to do with life. Only the love
is dead. You still sit in a halo of sweat
and wait to be told which parent to take.

Twelve years old, you know about life.
You know about love, the pain of separation
. horrors of visitation. You know how
it feels to click your heels as men
in chains assault you with their eyes.

William A. Mann

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