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

© 2010 TTBoy