TUFT

We saw a boy,
With a second name we didn’t like.
So we pushed him around, and started interrogating.
We called him names we didn’t like,
Hoping he’d start hurting.
It got a little out of hand,
That’s why I am cuffed here,
Cold.
Trembling. Looking away from the piercing eyes of the detective.
How will I get off the hook?

The boy,
Now lying cold in my mother’s backyard,
Six foot under.
Oh how joyed he must be. Seeing now,
His killers begging coppers for mercy.
But what mercy?

But why should I get jailed?
Yet I was made to believe,
His tribe was criminal!
Thieves.
Loud.
Greedy.
Incompetent.
Ungrateful.
Is it my fault then?
That I decided to,
Save the world the trouble
Get us rid of one cockroach?
It is after all, one for all, no?
So I am just being patriotic for all.

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