Last Words

I sit here on death row for I have killed

Two children — actually three by some counts.

To call them up in perfect memory

Is something I am not able to do.

I didn’t think of what they left behind

When I dispatched them one by one. But wait:

There was the first one, six years old, a boy

Walking alone. He was blond-haired, blue-eyed

Perfect American boy. And like a dog,

I snapped. His smiles were stopped. His laughs were choked.

He couldn’t laugh no more. He had a dad

And mom who waited very long to have

Him. He loved music, arts, and crafts, and one

Of his creations was a little house

Of clay. Now he will not make anything.

I can’t recall his name. The next one, then,

I think she was a perfect blonde-haired girl.

There is a common theme, I think. It was

When she was walking to the candy shop.

I just dispatched the blonde-haired blue-eyed boy

Two hours ago. Dressed in blue clothes, she walked

Toward the door where I was at. I don’t

Need to rehearse the details of her death.

You must have heard them well enough in those

Lurid and lavish details in the news.

But I can’t get out of my head how she would pray

That “Daddy would not cry too much for me,

That Mommy would remember me, that God

Would let me see them when in Heav’n.”

So much more to be said. But now it’s time

To get injected by the lethal fluid.

This ends my memory and this ends my speech.

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