The Judge Wore Nothing
A Poem by TTBoy
Warning
This Poem is rated Mature and may contain material unsuitable for readers under 18.
He moonlighted
As part of his penance he
handed out towels at the skeeviest
bath house in all of Chicago
That 70’s moustache
groomed well
up against all those forlorned
grandchildren of his age
Peering through the windows and
jacking secretly on himself hearing moans
after the sucking sounds of fists
and other body parts
changing courses of time
Who was he to Judge?
Especially with that moustache
But as he listened to others,
someone played his ventriloquist
And they did it well
And gave him a little somethin’-somethin’
when that moustache accidentally
stuck on a cock that would soon and
often make him beg for mercy
Too late
In deep, too deep
He soon turned tricks for the trade
Laid while paid
He paid
And as he overturned gang-banger
rulings
He was turned over by gang-bangers
And when the word got out
he could wear nothing
but the garment that made him
Holding a gavel that meant nothing
because he was gaveled
With each jury hung
It was still his decision who got to
have him as a judge
He was a joy to be had
Like royalty
He often spotted blue blood from his
robe
For it was insignificant for him to
adorn himself in anything else
Even on the bench
he felt like he was at a bath house
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