Cracked

Near the end of the lawsuit, I fell for him
when I hated every lawyer, even my own.
Christopher, public defender, who doesn’t
believe in god or religion or astrology or fate,
but collects Buddha heads, prayer beads,
lived in a commune in his 20s, reads Rumi,

Mary Oliver, loves Sexton. Stuck a magnetic
peace sign on the bumper of my car. Memorized
all the words to “Hallelujah.” Crooned them
to me over dinner. Believes in justice. How could
you stand it [the toxic legal wrestling pit]? Gentle
smile, says, everyone deserves representation. Case
after case, decades of finesse, respect; cracked
the enamel on his back teeth while he slept.

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Susan Vespoli is a poet from Phoenix, AZ who believes in the power of writing to stay sane. Her poems have appeared in ONE ART, Anti-Heroin Chic, New Verse News, Rattle, Gyroscope Review, and other cool spots. She is the author of four poetry collections. Susan Vespoli – Author, Poet