The Trial Poem by jackilton peachum

The Trial

The day the apple and the pear become judges.
Perhaps they'll wear the white wig of a British court.

And maybe they'll sway behind a high judicial bench side to side-
like tall pines in a gusting wind.

The oaks, being big and strong might act as bailiffs, wise old elms sit in a jury box to find a verdict, the cottonwoods pursue the prosecution. Cherry mount a spirited defense.

Brought in before them- puny Man.

The cypress calls the session into order. 'You're charged with greed- crimes against Mother Earth! How d'you plead?

A frog, summoned as first witness, croaks before he can finish.

Squirrels stare in at the window, a rabbit or two.

The wily fox perjures himself- again.

The defendant, being small and guilty, quails before the court, cries aloud- pleads non compus mentus, begs for mercy, and fingers the coins he's hidden in his pocket.