Ode to Judge Judy. By Vicki Iorio

Every afternoon, mom, the cat and I watch

Judge Judy. Mom is 98. Guppy the cat,

in dog years is not too far behind.

Each has a basket of meds on the kitchen counter.

Their medicines are the same: heart medication,

blood pressure pills, miracles for constipation.

I administer the afternoon doses before we watch the Judge.

Today Judy has a new hairstyle. It looks like a George 

Washington pony tail. The diamond studs in her earlobes

are almost as big as her head.  We know these rocks are real and try

to calculate their value. Her bailiff is buff and sexy. His name is Byrd.

I thought it was Burt before I googled. If he were a bird, he would be a

condor. We love Byrd, he looks up prices of old cars in the Kelley Blue Book

and helps Judy with math. When the defendant and the plaintiff

are there because of an altercation, Judge Judy calls this a kerfuffle.

Mom smiles and says that’s a Yiddish word. The internet disagrees

and says kerfuffle is of Celtic origin. I don’t want to have a kerfuffle with mom,

let her have her moment. After Judy, I make mom a light supper of eggs

and matzah, I give the cat a fresh can of cat food, and go to my room

with a chardonnay and the penal code.

Vicki Iorio is the author of Poems from the Dirty Couch, Local Gems Press and the chapbooks Send Me a Letter, dancinggirlpress and Something Fishy, Finishing Line Press. Her poetry has appeared in numerous print and on-line journals including The Painted Bride Quarterly, Rattle, poets respond on line, The Fem Lit Magazine, and The American Journal of Poetry.