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Capital P


Fry me?
Fuck you!
Fingered by philanthropic felons,
their first deal for freedom before
floating back to forcing pharmaceuticals into fragile fingers,
a fine fate for the forsaken.

Texas prosecutors violated the rights of convicted murderer Delma Banks when they failed to disclose that their main witness against him, Charles Cook, was a convicted felon and a paid informant, Banks’ lawyer told the Supreme Court.

Lethally inject me?
Level your lies on yourselves,
licentious litigators and larcenous lawmen,
all leading libertine lives while
leveling charges on lamentable lambs with lost livelihoods,
a low look at laudable laymen.

In 1998, after 17 years of appeals, Banks' lawyers discovered police notes that showed Cook had been coached by police on how to testify. The police gave Cook details of the murder case as well, lawyers say.

Shoot me?
“ Sure,” you say,
supposing that such sacrifice suppresses me,
securing salvation for souls since spirited away.
Seems simple since your sins aren’t so sobering to society;
Such a swell system for sycophantic swine.

Throughout 23 years of court fights, the parents of Richard Whitehead have waited for what they see as justice. The Whiteheads were waiting at a Texas prison one night in March, prepared to watch their son's killer die. They insist the case against Banks is solid, and that there is no reason to delay the case again.


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Capital P, by Paul Cales, © October 2003