Walter Barton
 
Walter Barton bought it in the chair.
Missouri justice finally made him dead.
Five trials and he didn’t have a prayer.

But did he do it?  Evidence was spare:
a lying snitch, a dab or two of blood
got Walter Barton sentenced to the chair.
 
Uncertain jurors didn’t seem to care.
I’m innocent he said.  And said.  And said.
In lawyer land, he didn’t have a prayer.
 
For almost thirty years, a long affair
while Walter languished in his prison bed,
each ruling brought him closer to the chair.
 
From grief to hope, from promise to despair,
the strands of life unraveled in his head
till Walter knew he didn’t have a prayer.
 
May 19, 2020. Were you there
to watch? The deadly chemicals they fed
humanely, not that old electric chair,
 
killed Walter. Most of us were unaware.
And if a few mistakes were made, too bad.
Old Walter Barton bought it in the chair.
No matter that he never had a prayer.
 
 Barbara Loots


If you have any thoughts about this poem,  Barbara Loots  would be pleased to hear them