by Michelle N. Broughton

Created on: June 18, 2008

MURDER MOST FOUL

Oh, yes, I knew Donnie Jones.
He was a sweet child
though maybe a little bit wild.

I watched him grow
from baby to eight-years old.
His tongue was so very bold.

I saw the man move up
the sidewalk to the door.
Donnie doesn't live there anymore.

No, his mother wasn't home;
went to the store, I think.
Donnie was gone, quick as a wink.

Well, the man was dressed

so very, very nice.
I didn't think about him twice.

Donnie seemed to know him
and I'm not a nosey soul.
Besides, I had sheets and towels to fold.

I know I was babysitting
but I was just next door.
No more questions, please no more.

It could of been his daddy;
did you think of that?
He looked nice; even wore a hat.

What do you mean,
I'm guilty of neglect?
(She pushed her body more erect.)

Why should I be chosen
to wear the brand of shame?
Passing the blame is the name of the game.

Sure I watched him go;
taken by a stranger.
(She's now rigid with righteous anger.)

I did my job; I knew where he was.
What about his mama
and her part in this drama?

Yes, he was in my care.
Yes, I let him go back home.
I needed sugar; he went to get some.

No, I didn't question his
leaving with that man.
Though to him I should have ran.

No matter how I try
to explain the things I did,
I'm guilty of killing that little kid.

Lead me to a cell
and throw away the key.
Donnie Jones will always haunt me.

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