The commissioner of oaths

I knock. she knows

that I'm coming. I tell her

who I am – she grunts,

lets me in. give her

the affidavits

and stand in a room

where people stand.

rooms show the mood

of their regular occupants:

here worry. the damp stinks

like laundry left

balled overnight. divorces

and family arguments ring.

land registrations and things.

I'm fascinated – wonder

what her story is, and what

her expenses must be

in this business. she asks

for €10 per signature. has me hold

up my right hand and swear

that I've read them. I haven't

but what the hell – it's boilerplate.

is that perjury? well,

what will they do?