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The Legal Studies Forum
Volume 30, Number 1/2 (2006) reprinted by permission Legal Studies Forum Lawyers & Poets Law Amidst the Rest PAUL HOMER _______________________ Walking Wounded We are among the walking wounded who walk alone along the trail acknowledging without movement or even looking up, the frail, determined other, by the slightest elevation of a hand, no wave, palm parallel to ground, in the other possibly a cane or knobby walking stick to compel himself to stand upright. No words are needed, no inquiry, no greeting, no "have a good day" for the two of us are meeting which is all we need to say. [581]
In Praise Of The Duck The arrogant hawk, the wolf that stalks his prey at night, the alley cat that shreds the mouse that leaves its nest, the bull that gores the Matador- these predators, these are the blessed- that poets elevate above the rest constructing bloody metaphors that rage and pant across each page in packs of words that run amuck. But who writes elegies about the duck? This morning on my way to work I watched one cross the thoroughfare, short and fat, preoccupied, scornful of the honking horns, the startled curse of hurrying folks-you know the joke- her goal in life to reach the other side, enfolded wings across her breast protecting her bedraggled purse, a matron out to take the air intent upon the riverside, the rank of ducklings circling there, then waddling down the riverbank on short webbed feet like shoes as old as last year's news, drifting off as the pilot boat, scarce a ripple in the stream, but underneath this placid scene- as is the fate of ducks and drakes- pedaling hard to stay afloat. The poet's prone to characterize the pride of lions, the vaulting geese, those that gazed in wild surmise upon the peak of Darien, but who will sing the praises of those who quietly carry on without a drum and fife the quotidian span of daily life? [582]
The Section 8 My name's Alene. Well, let's start out tellin the truth, you and me: It's just plain Ruth. (Alene is cute: it rhyme with queen.) Ruth Brown. Missus Brown to you. None of this slippidy slop "Miz" with me (tho it take less time to tell a lie than tell the truth). I live in Uptown. I'm black, not African American, or nigro, but black. Long ago, way back, I worked in cotton fields as white as snow. But now, I dust the books and clean the floor of some old fool who cough and spit so much he need a cuspidor. He be a retired Lawyah who live at home, alone, on the North Shore. I say to him one day, "Lawyah Homah, I need help. They say they put me out the place I live with that young whelp, my grandson, 14 years old, who I scold and scold but he broke the rule. What rule? They say if I got a Section 8 and he live with me, if whitey claim he smokin pot or doin heroin-not a lot but even once-which they claim the dunce did in the yard, I'm out-that common sin between him and me like we was Chinese twins." The old fool looks right up at me and ask me if I be criminate in any way. "No," I say "my house is clean, my grandson too, but CHA say they don't have to wait for no trial date or guilty plea to cancel out my Section 8." He say there can't be no such rule. But he don't know. Was long ago this Lawyah work. So he called down to get a clerk to come to court. I am in court at 8 o'clock, dressed in my go to churchey frock. [583]
And pretty soon it afternoon when that young and pretty clerk show up from work, come up to me and show a book she carry, and a case in there she say is starey, starey something-a case she say should win against the CHA. They call my name. I say I am the same. Yes, Missus Brown. My Lawyah say she work downtown. I step before His Honor the judge. My girl don't fudge or waste no time, hands up the book, points to a line she say on which she base my case. The judge-a little smiley kindly man- bends down his head and slowly read and then looked up at me and said (here I wrote it down for you, at best the words I recollect tho I suspect they ain't correct): "Missus Brown you are a victim of the system. I wish it was the other way around. But I have no ground on which to stand except the law of this wonderful land. We call such case ‘irrelevant' tho I agree it's eloquent but I'm afraid the words are ‘dictum,' that will not stop your eviction. And tho I disapprove, how much time do you need to move?" Well, that's the long and short of it, my story. While I got me a nice apology and had my day in court they say. You got any bright ideas, Mistah Lawyah, where I can maybe move today? [584]
Macanudo's Last Stand Here, I will make my last stand on this lonely promontory of the island, the only land surrounded by the illimitable sea. Far below, trees fall, machetes cut the underbrush, the line of hunters call to one another. The very wind is hushed. Now their dogs have caught the scent of smoke drifting in the air and press on relentlessly. I shrink in silent terror. The circle now encloses me, the moment can't be far when I succumb to my captivity and smoke my last cigar. [585]
Paul Homer served during World War II in an armored reconnaissance battalion in the European theater. He returned from the war to attend the University of Chicago where he obtained his undergraduate degree and then his J.D. from Northwestern University. He became a member of the bar in 1951, and in 1986 joined the firm of DLA Piper Rudnick Gray Cary US LLP as a senior partner in their Chicago office, where he continues to practice business, tax, real estate and commercial law. Homer's pro bono legal service at a neighborhood legal service clinic has been recognized by the Chicago Bar Association and by the Chicago City Council. Homer began writing poetry in 2004 at the age of 79. His first published collection of poems, Neighborhood Legends & Other Poems appeared in 2004. He expects to publish his second book of poetry this year. |
