Justice Poem by Felix Bongjoh

(i)

Smoke colors
a narrow room
to spin
on a slate and graphite

slab, a witness
to break
his neck on it.

Spray allium
on your morning
tray towait
for stars to fall

with the thunder
of the judge's voice,
when chills
seizethe spine,

leaving it
in cold ashes,
no hearth
to warm up

a freezing head
padlocked
to say little
and find a home
in mute numbness,

sun having
decamped
from its nest

of burning tinder
in a glowing
scarlet
shadowy,
but sunny sky.

(ii)

Let mistletoe
spin the ringing
place to wait
for the drumming
steering

theheavy judge's
gavel to fall
with a loud crash,

as it breaks wood
with waves
ebbing off the shore
of his rocky face.

(iii)

Let no storm wave
seize him in a capsized
canoe,

as sweaty
hands burn
and pop
in pant pockets

for a swim
in anxiety's scalding
waters,

as the judge cools
himself under his
fanned smirk,

his desk split into
specks of wood,

weevils having
chewed itscrust
into dry smoky pulp,

only a dry bark
of justice meted out
in a teaspoon
of quinine, leaving
a mouth in rags,

a quivering lady
seized by the flames
of her stormy scream.