James Arthur Ray
His Sweat Lodge
killed three people.
His peers sent him to
jail…
not to make more
money…
not defraud more old
or frail.
The judge sent him to
pay his dues…
to most for damn few
days.
We never asked to let
him find
more cons with which
to graze.
Justice may be blind,
but we
can see how much She
asks repaid…
so let us roar, “The
judge and She
have earned a failing
grade.”
For more poetry by James E. Cox
visit http://allthatrhymes.squarespace.com
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