Injustice

“I don’t believe in injustice!!!!” the protestor cried.
So I punched him in the face.
I think he’s got it.

Injustice comes in several ways.

“I don’t believe in abortion no more,” she said
as her young daughter squatted
in her feces filled underwear on the doorstep
looking at me hungrily
with a hidden hunger in her eyes.

“I don’t want to go in there!,” the old man grunted and shouted
as they hauled him off to the car.
His drool was dribbling down his pants leg,
the car smelled like vomit
that was not his very own.

(Soon it came to smell like him. Or perhaps it was the other way around.)

Injustice, anyone?

Jackbooted thugs knock at my door uninvited,
however I invite them in –
ignoring Alexander Solzhenitsyn’s advice:
“When the wolf knocks on the door the smart rabbit runs!”

I guess I’m not so smart though.
They take me while I’m standing paralyzed by
the injustice of it all
right in my living room.

The frightened rabbit stands alone
only to be herded into a cage full of them.
Run, rabbits run,
from the Injustice of it all.

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