A Poem for Nancy Grace
Blonde bob like the helmet of some childhood superhero
Although it's hard to imagine this wingless, clear-eyed human Scales of Justice as anything like a child
Righteous indignation congeals behind the eyes of this people's Cassandra; wrath roils off the tongue of this TVland cyclops of the missing, the murdered and the mute.
The female murderer is Nancy's prey: every gesture, sigh, smile, frown, word, sentence and mumbling prove guilt.
Witness Nancy Grace, more than merely judge, jury and executioner, but the levying officer on the defendant's very name,
For to be renamed "the Tot Mom" is the death even of Death.
Although it's hard to imagine this wingless, clear-eyed human Scales of Justice as anything like a child
Righteous indignation congeals behind the eyes of this people's Cassandra; wrath roils off the tongue of this TVland cyclops of the missing, the murdered and the mute.
The female murderer is Nancy's prey: every gesture, sigh, smile, frown, word, sentence and mumbling prove guilt.
Witness Nancy Grace, more than merely judge, jury and executioner, but the levying officer on the defendant's very name,
For to be renamed "the Tot Mom" is the death even of Death.
