don't judge me

it seems like you might
be judging me,
I tell her
as she slams a gavel
on the kitchen table,
rattling my plate
of scramble eggs.
she's wearing a black robe
and a white rolled
wig. you're out of order,
she says.
slamming the gavel
down again, almost
spilling my coffee.
i'll tell you when to talk,
she says.
now be quiet while I read
this list of charges.
I butter my toast
and slowly eat my breakfast
while I listen,
rolling my eyes
at each blown up charge.
when she's done, she asks
me how I plead.
to which i say, do we
have any tabasco sauce
your honor?