The radio plays the local DJ
as we buff and shine
the house squeaky clean
in the summer before last.

A song is interrupted
a voice cuts through
in the flat tone of shock:
The King of Pop is in a coma.

The house is forgotten
as I rush to a news channel,
any news channel.

Soon it is official
the Man In The Mirror
is no more
Leaving the world
bewildered and seeking answers
Any answers.

Global mourning sweeps the news
in a torrent of sorrow
In the homeland, paired
with a sense of (justified)
guilt.

But for a time; soon the
voyeuristic torment is
revived, albeit with
clipped fangs and claws.

For a year on,
the fans of the world
reject any hint of derision
or a journalist's sneer
asserting We've Had Enough

The summer before last
brought enlightenment
to many unexposed
Tainted by personal regrets.