Hearing
“Court is in session. This poet’s accused
of criminal metrical guile.”
“That’s one beat, correct? If I rhymed it with two,
could we scrap this ridiculous trial?
To my peers on the jury, when crafting your lines
does it ever elicit a scowl
to tap your foot once when you’re reading that word
and then tap your foot twice reading towel?
Go look in your shed and you’ll likely uncover
a couple of tangles of wires;
inexplicably monosyllabic they sit
only inches away from the pliers.
Suppose you’re composing a snippet of verse
about doing your tedious chores.
Does it strike you as odd that there’s one beat in that
but they shoehorned a pair into drawers?
Forgive me for having full use of my ears
when I hear of a fisherman’s lure.
I count out two syllables time-and-again
but the powers-that-be count out fewer.”
“Enough out of you! Let the jurors consider
your case and meet back in an hour.”
“That’s one beat?”
“It is.”
“No, it’s not.”
“Well, you’re wrong!
So, now kindly, just sit there and—”
“glower?”
“The verdict is in and you’re guilty as charged.
Ten lashes is what I must rule.”
“I’m invoking the Eighth! It’s unusual! Look:
how the Hell are there two beats in cruel?”