Justice ArnettIt is true, fellow citizens,That my old docket lying there for yearsOn a shelf above my head and overThe seat of justice, I say it is trueThat docket had an iron rimWhich gashed my baldness when it fell—(Somehow I think it was shaken looseBy the heave of the air all over townWhen the gasoline tank at the canning worksBlew up and burned Butch Weldy)—But let us argue points in order,And reason the whole case carefully:First I concede my head was cut,But second the frightful thing was this:The leaves of the docket shot and showeredAround me like a deck of cardsIn the hands of a sleight of hand performer.And up to the end I saw those leavesTill I said at last, “Those are not leaves,Why, can’t you see they are days and daysAnd the days and days of seventy years?And why do you torture me with leavesAnd the little entries on them?
It is true, fellow citizens,That my old docket lying there for yearsOn a shelf above my head and overThe seat of justice, I say it is trueThat docket had an iron rimWhich gashed my baldness when it fell—(Somehow I think it was shaken looseBy the heave of the air all over townWhen the gasoline tank at the canning worksBlew up and burned Butch Weldy)—But let us argue points in order,And reason the whole case carefully:First I concede my head was cut,But second the frightful thing was this:The leaves of the docket shot and showeredAround me like a deck of cardsIn the hands of a sleight of hand performer.And up to the end I saw those leavesTill I said at last, “Those are not leaves,Why, can’t you see they are days and daysAnd the days and days of seventy years?And why do you torture me with leavesAnd the little entries on them?