The courthouse frontage parallels a death
Camp: concrete posts and red-brick walls, a tall,
Three-story smokestack (phony), lines of meth-
Emaciated suspects. . . the banal-
-ity of metaphor obstructs the just
Amongst the jury, stacking court-appointed
Bailiffs like jelly donuts by the rust-
And soot-stained boxcars. Everything's disjointed:
Obese and puffy sheriffs, skinny A
DAs, caffeine-sustained POs attesting
Against cocaine-possessing kids. Twelve yeas
And bam, we'll spray you down; the prison's testing
A brand-new solvent guaranteed to kill
All contraband: drugs, spirit, guilt, goodwill.
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