How to Be a Lawyer

My father taught me how to play the beer bottle. It was Schlitz, and I was three or four. "You tuck your lower lip under, then blow air over the top of the bottle." I produced a tone, and we laughed. He paused. "You can make a different sound if there's less in the bottle," he said, motioning for me to take a sip. I did, then blew another note. We laughed again.

"Do you want to learn something else? Here's how to be a lawyer. Raise one eyebrow." I did so. "Good. Now hold it for a few seconds, turn toward the jury, and say 'I see.'"

Credit

Copyright © 2013 by Jordan Davis. Used with permission of the author. This poem appeared in Poem-A-Day on August 30, 2013. Browse the Poem-A-Day archive.

About this Poem

"The most important things sometimes happen in the lightest moments. And if nothing else important happens, the lightness can strengthen bonds between the people present. So also, I hope, for the writer and the reader."
—Jordan Davis