The long trial
I am so tired of this case.
It seems as though we have been here for years.
I feel quite blank.
Even you have stopped taking notes –
your eyes look vacant
and still the judge drones on and on…
Is the prosecution counsel asleep?
Can’t see him from here.
My head keeps dropping.
I hold it but my wig is itchy; I have to keep scratching –
I’d have liked one of those long curly ones.
I think my teeth are coming loose.
It’s ages since we had our last meal,
if we don’t eat soon everything will go right through me.
Stop looking at me – I’m only yawning.
Your wig is twisted –
each time you turn to me it slips a bit more.
And your gown seems to be growing something.
Your cheeks are looking hollow.
Are you losing weight?
Are you hungry, too?
That juror keeps leaning over –
falling asleep across the front of the box.
Glad we’re not his legal representatives.
He has long fingers.
I hope it won’t take much longer.
I’m feeling so very empty headed.
This is the longest trial I’ve ever had to attend.
Dorrie Johnson lives on the South Coast where the sea, New Forest and Nature Reserves offer ongoing stimulation. She is a member of a Stanza poetry group. Poetry is one of her interests but she is always trying to improve her writing and has had some publishing success.