I'm squirming in my chair of oak
with narrow arms, and folks lined up
in two long rows of growing thirst
and hunger for a breath of air
Like sardines in a can of worms
we are strange, unlikely shipmates torn
between one lawyer's limped plea --
the other shark who disagrees
Gray flannel suit, the stiff white shirt
with slicked down hair, accusing words
persuading few with his hot air
The black suit spews his declaration
a quite contrary explanation
Until my mind is torn in two
and in a room we must decide
Confined inside, a dozen votes
where six say yay, six more say nope
We're hanging by thin rope for days
and word has spread, the judge has spoken
He has finally coped with deadlocked folks
But sternly looks a bit provoked
We sit there like a row of stones
of wounded souls. We are excused!
Declares a mistrial........what a joke!
The accused is sitting, poker faced
I think I saw a guilty trace?
(Or innocence,....a tell-tale trace?)
We grope for keys, and leave our thrones
And as I'm walking out the door
No longer needed any more
The task was more than we could gnaw
A stale-mate 'cause the case was flawed?
I pass the one who's been accused
I'll just ask him, frankly, as we withdraw.....
"Pardon, sir, did you break the law????"
For Poetess Darkly's Contest: "Pardon me, but did you just.....??"