“Monday morning at 9 O’clock as
The court begins its ritual
I silently close the door behind me
Holding on to the note that I hope to assist me
In my presentation.
Stepping inside is easy
Sitting next to a woman clutching her handkerchief
And a man reading his subpoena, struggling hard
To make sense of it.
Something tells me we are all alone
Not a chance to prove our cases
With prior appointments with defeat.
But why should law treat us so thoughtlessly
Quietly turning its backside key on
Silently vacating its fair senses?
The creatures of this ritual
Are made of metal and gas.”