He was a small man
made to seem tall by a two button pinstripe
and a chevron tie, all in muted shades
of classic grey; bottom button undone

of course-

reclined against the polished pearl door
of a buisnessman's sedan, he tapped
a black Bostonian against the curb with
an impatient rhythm and his socks were

ribbed, certainly-

he drew two cards from a leather tri-fold,
passed them with manicured hands to a big man
in a cheap suit and wondered loudly what the matter
was; it was clearly not his fault

how could it be

when anyone with a good eye that happened
to be on the corner of South and Main
at the particular moment of the incident could see
that the signal was, of course it was

in his favor

and he wanted to know why yellow tape was being
strung, why photos were being taken and why weren't
the medics allowed to bag it up, get it off the street
before it offended the ladies who lunched al fresco

after all

it was only a little nigger
that thought he could break the law, beat the light
anytime he wanted because everyone knows that they
think they own the road and besides, he would only have

grown up to be a Democrat.

g`day blue tattoo, an excellent piece, your description of the incident is a fine example of life, uncaring cold and callous, I feel you have successfully deal with many topics of society in a descriptive verse both hard hitting and humorous, well done, take care greg.

. Great stuff.
misty..

from Joseph Conrad's Lord Jim

Every morning the sun, as if keeping pace in his revolutions with the progress of the pilgrimage, emerged with a silent burst of light exactly at the same distance astern of the ship, caught up with her at noon, pouring the concentrated fire of his rays on the pious purposes of the men, glided past on his descent, and sank mysteriously into the sea evening after evening, preserving the same distance ahead of her advancing bows. The five whites on board lived amidships, isolated from the human cargo. The awnings covered the deck with a white roof from stem to stern, and a faint hum, a low murmur of sad voices, alone revealed the presence of a crowd of people upon the great blaze of the ocean. Such were the days, still, hot, heavy, disappearing one by one into the past, as if falling into an abyss forever open in the wake of the ship; and the ship, lonely under a wisp of smoke, held on her steadfast way black and smouldering in a luminous immensity, as if scorched by a flame flicked at her from a heaven without pity.

The nights descended on her like a benediction.

Guest was me Hey Hey. I felt like a guest at the time, sorry.