522
himself the one on the right tries on
the glasses of the judge in the middle),
three bearded defendants (they
exchange smiles with the public),
three lawyers for the defense (grey
hair, checking their notes, robes hemmed with
thin bands of green), three lies,
two
half truths,
one justice (unjustifiedly
absent). Outside a rook
cleans his ageless robe.
The court clerk yawns. A judge, the one
on the left, counts non-existent
trees on the dusty wall. Boredom
rhymes with itself as if it were
PARTISAN REVIEW
a person accountable to the law. The prosecutor
lashes the memory of the accused, what does that mean
compared to the oblivion forgotten
by the court. Someone is crying, and some
stifled reality, pale as the shoots
of winter potatoes, sprouts anew.
A judge (the one in the middle) a tailor
with the powers of a demiurge
continually wonders, openly, covertly,
how many years he will cut off
his own and the three defendants'
ordinary divine rose-colored fireproof life.
