poetry by j matthew waters

it was a case of corruption or there was no defense

judge sat on bench eating dutch
apple pie and french vanilla ice cream

you’ve got to be kidding me the finger-
pointing prosecutor shouted from
behind darkly stained wooden rails

though jurors would never forget his words
they quickly struck them from the record
and watched aghast as hooded bailers
swiftly and briskly escorted the bastard out
tips of his toes barely touching floor

judge promptly hammers his desk trice
and orders up another slice of pie
garbling specific instructions
how the prosecution may come to a rest

september two thousand seventeen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

Single Post Navigation

Leave a Reply

Please log in using one of these methods to post your comment:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s

%d bloggers like this: