I have been writing poetry since my teens. Over the years I have been published in a variety of anthologies, hubpages and letterpile.
The oak panels were glinting and smelling of Mr Sheen,
The judge seated high, rather throne like.
The witness glancing around, absorbing the scene.
The judge adjusts the mic.
Some in the room are more familiar with the proceedings.
The witness takes the stand and raises their hand.
Questions that follow are quick fire
Hoping to establish, reasonable doubt.
Hold your own
Be clear and concise
Even though your knees are shaking.
Your time as a witness has finished
You have answered honestly.
Has the the lawyer caused the jury to question.
The events of that fateful day.
Innocent until proven guilty.
Yet the victim's trauma remains for a lifetime.
When you look from that perspective.
Does it surprise you that so many don't get as far
As the courtroom.
By Patricia Ann Ward 7/8/22
© 2022 Tricia