JUDGE NOT

In open court, the rancor

Rose like a plume

Bathing all present

With the vitriolic terms

Being tossed liked poisoned darts

Between the plaintiffs

More than once, the judge's gavel

Slammed as his face turned coral

And he demanded order

Called for some civility

Mopped his brow dry

Before scrunching his hankie

Into a ball, shaking his head

Thankfully, incidents as bad as this

Were rare, he thought

Trying to follow the thread

Of the arguments

Wishing he could duck

Below the lectern

to where his open bottle

Of single malt scotch lay

Wondered vaguely how much

Of his term on the bench

Was left ...