By Roberto Sosa

I entered
into the House of Justice
of my country
and found it to be
a temple
of snake charmers.

Within it
one is like expecting
someone who
does not exist.

Fearsome
lawyers
perfect the day and its blue bite.

Dark judges
speak of purity
with words
that have acquired
the brightness
of a knife. The victims —in contained space—
measure the terror in one fell swoop.

And all is
consummated
under that feeling of tenderness that money produces.