Arrest

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.