Butterfly Effect - ressourcesfeministes

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(a simple enough affair)
and once to correct an error of history.
Halfway through the proceedings
they attached me to the bar with articulated weapons.
My shoulders ached in a memory of medieval justice.
My supporters attempted a futile protest.
Tears strolled down my face.
My movement restricted to a slight turn of the head.
After the testimonies they cut me down.
o
I walked out into the cooling moonrise air,
sat in silence and steeled myself to return.
Again I listened to fabricated, partial evidence.
There was no pity in that room.
Soon the court was over.
The kangaroo perched above the judge’s head.
My head was uncovered.
We left, three of us, to debrief.
Two weeks later, sore from my injuries
I watched the main players