living the good life

when they were young,
the small children would visit
their father
in prison, place their
hands upon
the glass as he would
his on the other side.
murder, drugs, embezzlement
and fraud
put him finally behind
bars.
wanted in three states, but
soon out
after finding Jesus
for the umpteenth time.
he used to hide behind
his wife's couch
when the cops
knocked on the door
with another warrant.
at the thanksgiving table,
he'd sit there with his
bullet wounds,
his neck held straight
by a metal halo,
and pass you the salt
if you asked.
she turned her head and whistled
while the crimes went
on, while the cash stacked up,
and was hidden.
he'd tie bricks to the bodies
of those he
killed letting them sink
slowly
in the muck of the Maryland
shores.
but the money was good.
all cash.
flights to the Bahamas.
friends and family,
a party for all with a
a wall around the house
and the kidney shaped pool.
it was a good life while
it lasted.