old, white, weathered and cruel
his lips are pursed
his eyes stare straight ahead
show everything
tell the story of his life
the crimes and more
the emotion
pure hatred
the knowledge sends a chill
makes me stop in my tracks
stop long enough
to see the tiny face next to mine
my daughter's tiny hands
play with the strings on my shoes
and then she turns her head
her bright eyes catch a glimpse
of the killer on display
and her lips form a smile
the same smile she gave
the old lady in the store this morning
and it is then
I realize
the knowledge that sends a chill
has not found her yet.
(c)Ruth Lewis
published in Skipping Stones 2007
Mindworm Press, Chesapeake, VA
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