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      September 3, 2020The Public Defender First Approaches the BoxKathleen McClung

      My client’s just like you, except he’s not
      got gum or ibuprofen in a purse.
      His silence is his right. I’ll talk a lot
       
      about the night in question, which was caught
      on video. Your call: a blessing or a curse.
      My client’s just like you, except he’s not
       
      inclined to ruminate, to dwell on thoughts
      of Trump and Pence; he’s clear which one is worse.
      His silence is his right. I’ll talk a lot
       
      about police departments, how they’re fraught
      with graft, with hotheads prone to pull triggers.
      My client’s just like you, except he’s not
       
      received a fair shake from these guys. You ought
      to walk inside his shoes, then write some verse.
      His silence is his choice. I’ll talk a lot.
       
      Some sentences may leave you cold—some, hot.
      My job: to sow a field of doubts through words.
      My client’s just like you. Except he’s not.
      He’s silent. So are you. But me, I talk a lot.

      from A Juror Must Fold in on Herself

      Kathleen McClung

      “I have taught a variety of literature and writing classes at Skyline College as an adjunct professor for over twenty years. While this seniority gives me a wee bit of job security, I still struggle with all kinds of uncertainties, which may partly account for why I write mostly formal poetry. There is a tangible comfort in the challenge of crafting a sestina, pantoum, ghazal, or sonnet. I may not have adequate health insurance, but my iambs feel good.”

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