The Suspect
I frankly admit I am in love
with Perry Mason—
a man's man with his broad-shouldered
suits a lady defendant's last
hope.
His smoldering eyes lock
onto mine and he reads
truth or else
his those brown orbs burn
it out of me.
He gives no ground suffers
no fools.
He is hard city night
and the sins committed
under its cover.
He does not judge the divorcee
nor the daughter of a disgraced
man.
He is wise and sharp
the owl perching
until the time
is right.
How he wields courtroom
evidence and the tongues of liars
against themselves—O
how sweet to see his reflection
in the shine of his black
shoes while my own eyes
glitter with appreciation
behind my hat veil.
Gladly would I squirm
in the witness seat
brave the barrage
of questions and serve
up myself as suspect
just to be held
in the web
of his justice.
by Taunja Thomson
in volume 6 issue 2
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