JURY DUTY
It's an older building,
The telephones show it.
Fluorescent grids,
High-heeled shoes
And the bougainvillea outside.
There are 180 chins.
In the bathroom,
A man wearing a three piece suit
Admires himself
Squarely in the mirror.
He is a lawyer;
His pants zipper makes a funny sound.
The big woman and the skinhead youth
Get along well.
They share headphones and laugh unwholesomely.
"Call me," she says.
How many people find love
In the prospective juror assembly room?
They chat in sincere tones.
Strangers smoke together;
They speak of what they were
Supposed to do at work today.
The men stare at the women's breasts.
Phone number are exchanged and,
Later, perhaps, fluids.