Well, yesterday’s poem was a bit of a rant. Let’s see what prompt I pull from my dad’s riding bowler today.

“Finally, the truth”

Hmmm…I think a prose poem is required.

I sat across from him. Charged and held. A flight risk because he had money. A lot. The charge was child pornography. He took lots and lots of pictures of young girls. Had sex with some them. Back when the images were burned onto film. Hard to escape that reality. But he tried.
They answered the ad.
They liked doing it.
They got paid.
Every time I saw him in his orange county scrubs, he had another version in which the perpetrator is victimized, set up, ruined by people who can’t see
The beauty
The innocence
The art
Of his beautiful pictures.
They were 35mm.
You know, real artistic value.
The last time I accepted the collect call from the Lockhart unit, he begged me to tell his side of the story because he didn’t do anything wrong. How was he supposed to know that having his film developed across state lines was a crime?
I really am the victim here.