Crowded
CROWDED
Attending jury thickening
the very air with your bodies,
pardon me for ignoring to pardon
myself as I shoulder through you
to take out the trash or pour
myself a glass of water. These eyes
were drawn with a thick-tipped
Sharpie, forever bleeding closed.
Or, I suppose, it's more like running late
for life and unable to afford
the time to let the windshield thaw:
if we can see at all, it isn't much.
Of course, such a defense wouldn’t stand
in a court of law, unless—to throw
a bit of mud on the matter—
the judge were not a judge but a
surgeon, who says he’s seen
this type before and calls the defendant
forward, scalpel raised like a gavel
to close the case
and open something more.
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