The Leisure of Alleged Men

by Someone Who’s Tired of the Circus

He lounges like justice took a nap, Feet up, snacks stacked, remote in lap. The charges? Just whispers in the wind He’s “alleged,” so let the feast begin.

The clock ticks slow in comfy chairs, While paperwork plays musical squares. Delay is the game, and oh, what fun! A trial postponed means more time in the sun.

He’s not behind bars, he’s behind screens, Streaming shows and living dreams. While folks debate what’s fair or not, He’s growing richer, rounder, and hot-pot-spot.

Some cry “innocent!” with heartfelt sighs, As if betrayal wears a sweet disguise. But empathy’s cheap when favors flow, And truth gets buried under status quo.

So let’s not rush, let’s take our time! Justice, after all, prefers to mime. And if he ever trades couch for cell, Let’s hope it comes with Wi-Fi as well.

Author's Note

This piece is a satirical take on the slow grind of justice and the curious comfort some public figures seem to enjoy while under scrutiny.