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.