a dull quarter, a broken boy. a lost shepherd, a mended toy. all sit unused by a bookshelf in a back room, where a once warm man rots slowly by his broken teeth, and a weathered broom. the older broke the younger's heart the younger broke the older's head. for a thousand scars an honest trade, and memories of pain bleach cannot fade. She had been sweet as splenda, he a charming military man. he froze her in the frigidaire, with some peas and a lemonade can. while their child watched with a melting popsicle, that with his tears and screams mingled and slowly trickled to the floor. a battering ram through their door four weeks later, a national inquiry, a judicial scurry, and several repetitions of, innocent, until proven guilty, by order of a twice bribed jury. justice is only as honest as the man who pays to sway, a ladies hand from her scales to his waist. untie the knot that bound them, and let her body drift 'til you can't see her face. your mistake will kill you there, with a pipe from the broken frigidaire. may he rest in piece, or if I have any say, in pieces.