The Decisions Made

They asked me to sign my name
That's all--just a signature

And I signed, and that was it
It wasn't even the end of the week, the day, it was 10am

I was the Governor
I signed things
That was my job

And the man
The man in question
Had killed a woman

Brutally, terribly
It was an awful case

My boys--that was what I called my staff, my boys
They didn't even want to tell me about it
When it happened
The details
They wanted to spare me

This was the 70's
I was a woman
Women's lib hadn't hit Kansas yet
And I only got into office
Because my husband had a heart attack
And even in politics
When a man dies in the Midwest
The woman gets the house
So I got the house
And it was a pretty big house
But that's not what this is about
This is about the decisions made
The decisions I made

They're having me write my autobiography
I'm stuck on this chapter
The chapter about the signature
The one that put that man to death

'What's this for?'
'Oh, it means no more appeals.  It means fry the boy.'
'Oh, well then, all right.'

I'm simplifying
But it wasn't much more complicated than that
Back then everything was simple

You show up at a murder site
You find a woman dead
A man with blood all over him
It means he killed her
And so you kill him

Back then, stories didn't have twists
Now there's a twist to everything
Now they're going back to old stories
And putting the twists in

That's why old people hate young people
They keep retelling our stories

They show up with a new ending
One with D.N.A.
And suddenly...

I killed an innocent man

Oh, it's more complicated than that
It always is
But ultimately...

I signed my name
And a man died
A man who was in the wrong place
At the wrong time
And had the wrong color skin
And no money
And no friends
And a jury full of people, who, if I'm being honest
Probably had opinions about some of those things
That informed their decision
Their verdict

And then I made my decision
Because it was one of a thousand decisions
And not altogether
Just that week
And I...

 . . . . .

You want the truth?

The truth I won't write
In this little book of mine?

I wonder...

I wonder if a man
Would still feel guilty
All these years later
About another man

He was a plumber
He had kids
And a wife
A mother, who was alive

And I was a wife, once
And I'm a mother
Now a grandmother
And my husband, before he took office
Was a carpenter

Is that why I feel guilty?

Or is it something else?

I'll never know

You know...

I'm going to have to do a book tour

And I'm going to have to speak
And I can do that
Answer questions
I can do that

But I'm going to have to sign books

And...nowadays
For some reason

I have trouble signing my name