Avoiding the Police
God! Why did you ever bring me here?
I know starched khaki: how it looks like.
Cop’s pistol looks much like woman’s purse
But in its chambers not face powder…
God! What makes it sweet I should be here?
Pin-sharp eyes search me for a cheap strike:
Next, a clever charge and self I curse;
With the stench in cell room wails louder...
God! Next time, help escapes of the sought,
The batons cops brandish not a friend;
On my head exploded a cracked skull,
Not a pleasing sight back with a whack…
Not likely my appearance in court,
My pocket dry case comes to an end.
Right now a noon blessed with a sky dull:
Handcuffs I hate for image they hack.
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