It’s been a long time since I’ve written something for the Three Word Wednesday site. I’m sitting in Bluegrass Airport, STILL waiting for my flight to Tek11.


May 24, 2011

Out in the waiting area,
my flight delayed yet another two hours,
the television tells us,
of a mother accused of killing her
angelic daughter.

She stands under the barrage of accusations,
and the hateful stares of a hundred million watchers,
as her stupidity is framed as malice,
and her malice framed as tragic mistakes.

Too much tragedy.

A beautiful girl,
the same age as the long-gone victim,
cavorts among the chairs
shrieking gleefully.

Three boys,
just boys,
can’t be more than 15 – although I suppose
they must be, since they carry
camo bags with their name on them
and combat boots and official-looking envelopes –
sit hunched quietly in their seats,
stoically staring into their
all-too-certain future.

In the bar,
the only drama is the unexpected
upset of John Isner
and, more immediately,
what flavor I’ll choose for my chicken wings.

Back at the gate,
the trial continues.
The young former mother stands,
endures the caustic words,
her attorney sacrifices her dignity
in exchange for her freedom,
saying, yes, she’s a terrible mother
but not a

The tears roll
down her cheeks.

The press calls her a crocodile
and practically glows with excitement
at her tragedy.