Charlotte Ballard

I hear a strange rumbling
In me, as if ten freight cars
Were rolling by,
And something important
Was being decided
And I wasn't even invited
To sit at the table to
Speak in my own defense.
Like an underage minor
Forced to sit outside,
With my legs swinging,
The courtroom that will
Decide my fate,
I have no voice to speak.
Yet, I hear the screech
Of the Pullman cars
Being halted and the porter
calling 'Last Stop, all Out.
Last Stop.'