He'll Get His

Regardless if you thought the price
He ought to pay was life in jail,
Or death. No matter, both suffice.
And in the end alike prevail.
In cases monstrous such as this,
His cell or yard's his last abyss.

Not even mindless inmates brook
Full fiends they think that justice missed
As if the law mere punks mistook,
Though now by death itself one’s kissed.
Like Ariel Castro in his berth
Not knowing if he’ll wake on earth.

Himself a warden of a sort
Who locks three women up for years
As sex slaves, one forced to abort,
He still before a court adheres
To notions that he’s merely ill,
Not to be thought as bestial.

I’m all for mental sickness as
Legitimate in one’s defense.
But Castro’s courtroom razzmatazz
Bespeaks a narcissist and hence
I hope when killed, in his last breath,
He knows he loved himself to death.