Down to Earth?

“Sometimes,” said the woman in red sitting outside the courthouse.

“Sometimes you gotta,” she said to her co-workers, the red jersey

Of her dress clinging to her ample curves while she kicked

The granite ledge where she sat amidst a din of everyone talking

At every one else, not listening, some smoking, but not eating, on a break

Of some kind.  Maybe they were jurors not court staff or perhaps visitors.

Funny that they didn’t have some kind of badge, all of them talking.

All of them talking and looking like they did the same type of work or had something

In common, talking all at once to a group that was familiar, but didn’t care to listen.

Amidst the talking, too many at once, and the clacking of her heels, like a kid, against

The granite ledge, “sometimes you just gotta be quiet,” she said to nobody listening.