Justice For Shannon

Justice for Shannon,
the painted windows say,
and dates flash before my eyes.
Justice for Shannon,
in red paint,
perhaps to represent her blood,
and from the backseat where one has no control over where he goes,
it may look like a stained-glass church window...
Who was Shannon?

Justice for Shannon,
say the small street-corner signs,
'Gone but not Forgotten'
staked there like campaign slogans.
Vote for Shannon, it could say,
beside her last picture:
dark hair, solemn eyes,
olive skin, broiling skies.
I'd gladly cast my ballot for her.
What is Shannon's idea of justice?

Justice for Shannon,
who we assume has passed away.
Justice for Shannon, the innocent,
who has been wrongly imprisoned in stone crypts and time
Justice for Shannon,
perhaps because she was wronged on Earth,
because her death was caused by injustice, by oppression,
because she was surrounded by the unjust,
the sick desire of man,
and now she might be free.
Shannon, the only injustice is that an angel like you was forced down here with us.

Justice, Shannon, was not your back-seat life.
No control you had,
no control.
You can yell at the driver,
try the window, try the door,
but the car's headed for death, Shannon, and it's not stopping.
Maybe you can slow the driver a bit,
but he'll get you there.
The injustice comes in your lack of control over the route,
in that all other passengers have as much to say in your ride as you.

The signs say Justice for Shannon,
as if it's something she hasn't attained.
Shannon, there is justice in all death,
whether punishment and reward.
Please don't take offense when I say you didn't deserve to live.

you deserved so much more.

I passed a cemetary today,
of only ten or fifteen stones.
On each, printed by my mind, was
'Shannon'
'Shannon'
'Shannon'
'Shannon'...
the name, the lone similarity of an otherwise motley assortment of stones--
some winged angels, perhaps to compensate for a lifetime of wicked deeds,
some simple plaques to mirror a lifetime of bare essentials and poverty--
and the fifteen different stones are merely how others perceive the dead.
A fence surrounds them.
Why?

I see now that Justice for Shannon is not a plea or a petition,
but a shout of triumph.