Sheldon Gilbert

With apologies to Clement Clarke Moore and Justice Scalia: ’Twas the night before FedSoc, and all through the town, Every lawyer was hunting a judge to pin down; The business cards nestled in pockets with care, In hopes that a future appointment lay there. Associates lay wide awake in their beds, While visions of clerkships danced round in their heads; Their judges had told them, “Go mingle. Have fun.” They’d billed the advice as point-two to someone. And I, with my bourbon, had loosened my tie, Prepared to explain why your test went awry, When out in the lobby arose such a clatter, I sprang from my chair to see who’d grant the matter. Away to the gathering I flew like a flash, Past partners discussing their books and their cash; The glow of the smartphones lit faces below, As everyone checked whom they needed to know. When what to my wondering eyes should appear But a justice whose voice I could still plainly hear; With a shrug and a scowl and a wicked guffaw, I knew in a moment: the ghost of Nino. He carried no sack, wore no festive disguise, But a stack of dissents of considerable size; And he called to the lawyers who’d crowded the floor: “You’ve had forty-odd years. Must we do this once more? “Now, TEXT! Now, STRUCTURE! Now, HISTORY and MEANING! Stop telling me what you suppose they were feeling! To the top of the brief! To the words of the law! If the policy’s lousy, go knock on Congress’s door!” He spoke, and a hush settled over the bar; Someone whispered, “I think he’s gone slightly too far.” A professor proposed a more nuanced approach; Nino raised one thick eyebrow. The man called his coach. One lawyer said, “Justice, before you proceed, There’s a framework of factors I think that we need.” The shade took a breath, and the room braced for thunder: “How many?” “Just twelve.” “And which clause are they under?” A partner stepped forward, his manner most winning: “Our firm has supported your work from the beginning.” The ghost eyed his nametag, then gave him a grin: “And which side were you on when the fees first came in?” The young lawyers gathered, their questions sincere: “Should I clerk? Should I teach? Should I stay one more year?” He said, “Learn your craft. Have a life. Read a book. And a text without footnotes is still worth a look.” Then somebody asked who would next get a seat; The whole room leaned forward and shuffled its feet. He smiled as they waited, all breathless and tense: “I’m dead. I can finally decline to dispense.” He turned toward the exit, his work nearly done, Leaving twelve tests in tatters and ruining one; But I heard him exclaim as he passed out of sight: “Happy FedSoc to all—and for God’s sake, cite right!”