Driving down boulevards
toward our private purposes
we see this public monitor
the cop car FLASHING STOP
to penalize some luckless
part of a needed quota.
The angel with his holster
sent by THE EYE ABOVE
which redly glowers
tears from a ticketbook
the childhood terror CAUGHT.
We slacken speed and sicken
in dull dread of misdeeds: STOPS
we glided through, the fender
nicked unseen (so we thought)
and LIMITS wildly exceeded
in the late, late night.
We quicken, menace pedestrians,
pass passing trucks, unsignaling
turn with an agony of tire
praying he will not behold, pursue,
FLASH STOP this messenger
whose car is BLACK AND WHITE
as Sunday fables our forebears
read with tight shoes and hearts.