Ode to a Juror at 17, 1982

Sitting in a room--freezing from
                                         the cold,
                              and cold from
                 the boredom that stretches
                                   hour
                                     by
                                   hour
And then the voice of a woman
        begins calling out names
                                        as
              a dull roar becomes hushed.


And now you sit as other people
                                take your place,
          happy that they are serving while
  you think about lunch or next week
            or a novel that's not very good.


A few minutes later that seems
                                           like
                                                hours...
      with you in a groggy nod,
                 a name that sounds like your4s
           and you jump to go for a jury
                  where you find it was all
                                                    a mistake.


So you go back
                         down
                                  to a cold room
      to wait for another call that never
                      comes.


Sitting in a room...