Poem : Execution Victim Cemetery


Just as Manson killed the sixties,
As the result of a trial at the end of the seventies
Welcome now to the death of the eighties.
The 42 year old sits in a nine by eleven cell
Refusing the final steak and eggs treat.
Head quickly shaved
And a thirty foot walk to the chair.
Number 216 for the treatment
No longer a man
Just a mere statistic.
Anonymous executioner takes eighty five dollars
And flips the switch calmly.
2000 volts
A dance of death.
42 witnesses
24 media eyes
And 12 citizens whose lucky number came up out of a thousand entered.
Jocks tell the good listeners
To turn off coffee machines and toasters
To give Old Sparky even more power.
Just don’t turn off the radios, oh no,
Stay tuned for more after a word from our sponsors!
Thieves in the temple sell t-shirts
And if death makes you hungry, Bundy Burgers.
It’s a party outside Florida State Penitentiary
Singing, fireworks, cheers.

Years later, the silence smothers.
All that’s left is a small concrete tablet on the prison grounds
In the never visited Execution Victim Cemetery.
Since that Tuesday fryday
The legend only grows.
The deliberate stranger
Now infamous around the world.
Whilst victim’s names fade to sepia nothing
Theodore Robert Bundy lives forever in technicolor.
[Roberta Parks]
[Susan Rancourt]
[Georgeanne Hawkins]
TV Miniseries,
[Lisa Levy]
[Margaret Bowman]
Net Blogs,
[Brenda Ball]
Fan Art,
[Donna Manson]
Fan Fiction,
[Caryn Campbell]
[Janice Ott]
[Denise Naslund]
[Melissa Smith]
Action figures,
[Laura Ann Aime]
[Debbie Kent]
[Julie Cunningham]
[Denise Oliverson]
[Melanie Cooley]
[Shelley Robertson]
[Nancy Baird]
And bubblegum cards.
[Kimberley Leach]
And bubblegum cards.
And bubblegum cards.

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