Civic

A funny-looking man, so much smarter
Than I, so much thicker
Skinned than I had hoped a person

Could ever be, laughed in
Between his cases, before the next
Terrible story is told.

This is the luck of being drawn
For grand jury rolls, to sit quietly
As the State offers its two-week,

One-sided anthology to render
A criminal cross-section of my
Neighborhood or somewhere near it.

It never ends well,
For anyone, not even us, the worst
Possible light falling through a municipal

Building's dirty windows, falling out
Of a funny-looking man's
Mouth all over us.

So much I can't tell you, too thin—
Skinned to want to
Remember and a seal over

All of it saying You never can,
Except to strangers in this room,
Which is the way our justice begins

Or did those days, in November.
Now who knows what ceremony
We'll go through seven years later

When our names come around again,
If there's a ceremony at all,
If there's a crime left for us.

Copyright © 2008 Anthony Lacavaro All rights reserved
from Bateau
Reprinted by Verse Daily® with permission