NEWS FROM THE MUSE OF NOT GUILTY

He sits in a Hawaiian shirt over a bulletproof vest,

Slumped in a beach chair, its back to the ocean.

Even his red wine spritzer tastes like Skittles now.

It’s the same complaint again and again from him: the taste

Of things; he only eats food that he can see made.

And ever since someone suggested he read Sophocles

And put his faith in justice, their talk of having a child

Has been awkward. “That poor, poor child,” he says.

“To have to watch out for that poor child,” he says.

That poor child. That poor child. That poor child. That poor child.