Pot of Gold

The blue lights announce the jackal closing in on the kill, 

his solitary prey lulled by lifelong expectations of safety

to expose herself to the leering–––

——Your [enter some pretext here] is not as we require . . .

——OK, thanks, I'll sort it out at daylight.

——Good, but in fact there is a law at stake here, 

requires a diversion in the night, step out with me; 

I might have to write about this; 

Still,  I hate to think of you sleeping in that crowded cell 

so many guys, drunks, louts, you so fine;

I write so slowly, so many forms . . .

——Look, I didn't know, I'll get it sorted

out just now?   

–––Yeah, sure you know I maybe could see my way clear to that 

but I wonder what you can do to help . . . 

Would you rather pay, or blow me?

Nice place you have here, you do good trade

 With bonhomie the inspector smacks his lips

Joins his prey in a long, longing appreciation

Of the clientele in for a quick tot after work

Long days, longer legs, short shots, shorter skirts

They catch each other's glance, 

A knowing smile cements their bond.

Better show me round the place, let's be quick.

those are some good looking girls, eh

One or two look sweet, young

You want to introduce me?

––––––They are my daughter's friends

Known the families forever

It's OK, I remember when they're born.

Eish, they look very young, you know

I see why you like them in the place, good for trade

You don't want trouble with the licence

Won't you introduce me?

––––––These are good kids, you know what 

I'm saying to you, leave them.

You want a drink?

No; What I think

You  must do now is help me 

See clear to not worry about their age.

Introduce me to the girls, or

Would you rather just help with my accounts?

Remembering I want to help you stay in business.

A uniformed daughter of the nightingale

Closes her supplies, ends her day

Her hand closed over an estate

With a high street value

Logs off, shuts down, lights out, locks up

Trades smiles, greetings with the incoming

Guard, loosens a button, shows him some

of what he craves, will never hold

Watches his distracted gaze as she slides

her treasures past, accepts his grateful grin

Of appreciation, good night, be well

Heads into the evening, her chosen market

Trades on her own account

the plundered contraband to

Desperate lives justified to her by their

Obvious need, and hers. 

Piles and piles of newspaper files

Tales of mischief done, alleged, presumed.

A court swears––You cannot hide the facts!

Sets off a round of fresh reproach,

Remonstrance of the none so innocent.

Fingers point, they all seem to have dirt

under the nails, on one another. 

The small fish swim in waters

Made safe, governed, by apex predators

Refining the means of plunder

Charge for the exercise of right

Milk the suppliers of the state

Peddle your connections

Trade on what you find inside

Lip lock and suckle the juicy teat

Occupy your post, locust and remit

A tithe to your betters...

The culture of entitlement runs deep, easy

There is pot of gold to be claimed

 Righteously, at the end of the rainbow.

 © Philip Knight 2018