Court Day

Lawrence Mack Hall, HSG
mhall46184@aol.com
April, 2013

Court Day

So sullenly he sneers and slouches there

Behind a menu that he will not read
His mother smiles apologetically
And orders milk and cereal for him

He sulks beneath his franchise baseball cap

And grunts into a little plastic box
Then shoves it back into his pressed knee-pants
His mother smiles apologetically

                  tips apologetically

                  pays apologetically

The waitress with her chalice takes communion ‘round

Refills the cups at each creaky table
Newspaper stories, what is this world coming to,
Bacon and eggs, toast, orange juice, refills, life

Beyond the misted glass the old court house

Begins to take the early morning light
Like an old man taking his first cup of the day
Having another go at civilization

A rural Thomas More parks his old truck

This Chaucerian sergeant of the law
Will plead the usual catalogue of not-his-faults
The lad will smirk and feign apologies

The creaky tables of the ancient laws

To be served with irrelevant custom
The lad asks for change for the Coke machine
His mother yields

apologetically