Tuesday, November 7, 2017

Week in Seven Words #369

arachnids
As I pick through a Bach prelude, my hands feel like spiders crawling over cracked pavement.

baked
I pry the lid off the banana walnut scented candle and breathe.

fearful
One night is a rough night, anxiety a rising flood in my skull.

filing
We are docile and subdued on the line through the metal detectors. A guard is curt to an old woman who isn't sure if she's at the correct location.

hissing
His thoughts are oil in a frying pan and a crackle of buzzwords.

judicial
The room where potential jurors wait is full of sunlight, warmth, and murals displayed well above eye level, to no one's loss. The clerk splits our heads open with a whining microphone. From time to time, we listen to lists of names, and people shuffle out. Shoes squeak, and newspapers rustle. One man falls asleep. His snores sound like a bumblebee trapped in a bottle.

staleness
In an unlit hallway, they've set up tables with cookies, chips, and sandwiches of uncertain freshness.

2 comments:

Brian Joseph said...

It sounds as if you have been in the same jury rooms that I have been in. I guess they are all pretty much the same :)

HKatz said...

They probably are - the inside of courthouses tend to be.