Portrait for Aileen

sweet little Monster

made with man’s

fractured rib

bruised eyes

Grandpa’s sweaty

palms

tucked baby blonde curls

behind innocent ears

and watched her

hair now a matted wad

brittle and box-dyed with

coagulated blood at the base

speckled in spittle and cheap whiskey

weathered thumbs with broken nails

pulled in cars on Florida highways

another John with a soiled $20

whispering into her ear just before

a crowbar pulls flesh from her skull

yet jurors called her

Monster

for killing seven Johns

before execution,

eyes the color of a freshly paved

road to nowhere, she spoke,

i’m leaving.

i’m glad.

thanks a lot to society for railroading my ass.