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

of course-

reclined against the polished pearl door
of a businessman'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.

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