Judges wearing people suits pile in.
Glazy wrinkled  donuts, lukewarm coffee.
No outlets for the laptops everyone brings.  

Dewey-eyed faces impressed with law,
more impressed with how it feels behind the bench.
Old whores strolling from rig to rig
at the truck stop of government agencies.  

A good lot, all in all,
more likely to do good than some politicians,
a lot more likely to look for truth and apply it.  

The agenda aches, the power points lack power,
the password for the Internet is ESCAPE.
I don’t mind. I have another donut.  

They may not learn me how to strike the gavel
square, or see the heart inside the matter,
or would Solomon really cut the baby in half  

but I’ll be humbled by what’s truly important:
there’s no such thing as “small claims” court.