You understand it's not like CSI.
Right? says the judge. She pulls her glasses down
and glares. The jurors smirk and look away,
thinking Well, duh: no babe or hunky guy
is anywhere in evidence. The clown
who's Plaintiff is in ripped jeans and a tee;
the prosecutor's suit is thin and shiny.
His line is that Defendant pulled a gun
on Plaintiff, on a stretch of rural highway,
but photos (staged) to show what P. could see
look wrong: a different car, a different weapon,
a trumped-up view not shown convincingly —
no fingerprints, no blood, no DNA.
Only the troopers' word they found the gun.
(The tech can't get their video to play.)
And why they thought the accused should testify
is still a mystery. But the jury's keen
to take the case and wrangle. What they say
can't apprehend what's true and what's a lie:
Which actor here's the sympathetic one?
Drama at last: men shout and women cry.
The state will try again another day.
Jury dismissed. No justice will be done
this episode. It's not like CSI.