This thing will hurt somebody,
he said. In seconds blood would flow
from his own nose, strong as the Susquehanna River1
by his home in Harrisburg. He
didn’t finish his speech.2 He ad-libbed
those last moments. Please leave the room
if this will affect you.
What was he to do?
An innocent man facing fifty-five years,
a death sentence to him, two kids3
and a wife of two decades. Betrayed
by the state he had served.
False tongues, flimsy evidence,
fakes bribes led to suicide
of an innocent man.
But why live?
In front of burning lights4
and rolling cameras,
the revolver in the envelope
in his mouth.5 When
cameras couldn’t cut fast enough
we saw. Why did he want us to see?
Why is this his legacy?
He didn’t finish his speech.6
He told us to fix
a broken justice system.
Begged with his blood,
Please tell my story.7
1The smallmouth bass
swim with sunken eyes.
When fishing season comes,
each one knows they will be hooked.
2Words have a way
of fumbling on the
tip of the tongue,
so some people stop altogether.
3The screams of kids scare
the birds. Tiny hands pluck
at buttercups and liverleaf.
Their father smiles and names for them
the live-for-ever.
4Sweat gathers uncomfortably
under the collar.
5Bittersweet, he might say,
but gunpowder burns on the way down.
6So much to say, so young.
7We will.
Ambrose Day is a junior at Ball State University studying history and creative writing. His work has previously been published in the Oakland Arts Review. He hopes to one day publish both poetry and fiction writing. His biggest inspiration is Shel Silverstein.
