dioginette with hand over mouth

spring again, time to filter
the clothes, out with  the unworn
out out and take your stuck
zippers with you. first
world problems oh! our
hydrogen fuel cells need too much
plat ti num. oh! old mac donald's beef
isn't free trade, oh oh i'm down wind
from an ethnic carnival, how
will i bear it?

it's ok i answer
somewhere there is justice

hmmm, so i
went lookin for it
down in the basement up in the cellar
through a bunch of attics and tree houses
yes, like that, i took off
with a candle powered
by batteries, a rope and a towel.

i tied the rope on a horse
i thought should belong to me.
horses and ropes go together
if there are humans involved.
that's how it's been since history.
but i left them both at the beginning
of the journey. traded them
for a buncha batteries. i am not
a horse people. but

i'll never let my towel go. to be truthful
i keep it in a backpack i discovered
outside the trading post. serendipitous
like so much of life, as i wondering
where will i put all these batteries?
they really were
the only thing  i was interested in
 at the post. i needed two things:
light
and to get rid of that damn horse.
it was a fresh relationship but
too demanding. spoon fed strawberries, for reals.
spoiled is what i called her. seriously spoiled
was her name for the time i claimed her sometimes
i think she rode me instead of the other way.
around the corner from the post sat
the backpack. brand new.  still
with a tag on it. i looked  for an owner
or hidden cameras. then i took it.
it was going to a long journey, i knew
because no one had seen justice
in the first world since
they couldn't remember.
after a while of traipsing up stairs
and interviewing cell mates i began to form
a picture of it. shiny, swordesque it cut
through bullshit then sliced green
tomatoes for dinner. .never asked why
are you late, just warmed the plate,
 set it beside you and let you eat in peace.
justice was understanding, sometimes to a fault.
i remember a story one woman related
about a custody battle over a botched
adoption. justice wanted to cut
the baby in half. the adoptive mom
broke down in tears
as the blade was raised and threw herself
in front of the bailiff screaming no!
she(the birth mom) can keep her!
so that's what happened. later on they found
the baby dead of course but no one
seems to blame justice. some people
didn't like to judge but still they rated
the service ones and twos .
some nights while camping in the latest
hovel i'd found on the internet, the leaves
seemed to echo the gossip i'd overheard
during the day in cafes and gas
stations, they whispered
 how slow she was, how blind. how
have i not found her! i silently screamed
  boards  rattle and skyscrapersswayed elusive
still, i think
i must switch tactics.
i begin to travel at night.i have all these
batteries and a candle. my towel valiantly
holds up through multiple soppings-up of rain
soaked shoes ; spilled coffees; sea soaked skin;
night's indescretions    it rests, royally purple
embedded with a paisly jaquard, in the backpack
 ready  to protect me from  bad
 hair on a drizzly day. i trade batteries
for a hamburger in gold city, oregon.
i ask the waitress if she knows anything
about justice. justice! she spits
the word out. i cover my coffee. they tell me
she's blind but i think she's dumb.
dumb?  i've heard her called a lot of names
but not dumb.
yeah well, last time she appeared
around here, she didn't say a word,
just sat there, like her lips were stitched
together. she had an interpreter
doing that thing with the hands
but i don't think anyone knows what anybody
said.pretty much everyone left unsatisfied
and the tent only bot a few more folks come in
after that.most likely they saw the fylyers still up on the road,
she had the signs just ike burma shav
with jingles to draw the crowd i remember the best one went
when you're having a party
don't forget to bring the fun
when you do a bad deed
don't forget to run
it won't do any good of course
to think "they won't bust us"
we will grab you at the source
because we are justice.
she liked
to talk in the royal but there
is a lot of firepower behind her.
so we began to undertsand
that's what makes her right. might.
we didn't like that, so much.
we throw snowballs at her now
she crouches down on her walks home
from the library where she's learning
to speak again, hey, hey, mister hey
but i've run out of batteries
and the night's coming on