At Court

They are faceless, nameless, hopeless.

The sickly, young mother clutches the thinning boy’s hand.

The band of on lookers behind her, snicker at their misfortune.

The bench on which they once sat is vacated.

They rise, cruel, taunting,

Throwing fists and insults left and right.

Yellowing paper floats to its rest on the dusty court room floor.

Dirty like the mother’s crime, stealing food for her starving son.

She cowers in the bench corner,

Tucked in the corner like a cowering mouse from a house cat.

She’s almost blue with hyperventilation.

‘This is the day,’ they say, ‘We take the boy away.’