Law Report

This child was thrashed to death for thieving, lying

and filthy habits which, the father said,

were driving him and her mother nearly mad.

The neighbours say:  We knew that she was dying—

skin, bone and scared eyes, moving like a mouse

in the dusk of walls, craved scraps of food and love

—a sweet little girl—hanging’s not bad enough—

But who can know the darkness of that house?

A black brew of stupidity, distilled

through stunted generations; yet moving in it

a blindworm urge to love makes for a minute

contact, perhaps; lost that, sinks choked and chilled,

changes to hate—for much more than each other:

for life, which that lost spark has shown as spoiled.

This darkness then was visited on the child;

until they killed her, and the police took over.