Having seen the impassive face of a
better man making judgement (yes,
a death sentence) there were
unmistakeable signs you merely played
at make-believe; you wore a visage
as grim as a face officially displaced by
judicial intolerance. And you looked at
your watch – that pimped your pretence.
Prosecuting Council, a uniformed Sgt of
Police, winced, refused to meet my eyes.
Defence Council sighed, shook
his weary head, knew the
outcome the moment you
took the bench. In my heart
I brooked no offence,
an eye for an eye, a life for
a life; I smiled at your theatrics –
your thunderous augmentation of
an odious, tenured and self-righteous
arsehole tolling a pitiable crime,
a pathetic slight to the Nation.
At least you got that bit right.
And when your hysterical diatribe
dwindled to a recumbent snore you
fined me $400.00, adjourned for lunch.
© 25 July 2007, I.D. Carswell