Crooked Little Pill

Poem By O.S. Brooks

Stuck on an interstate
Traffic is moving
as slow as conversations in Texas
From my view
I watch
4 cars in an accident
One man gets out angry
He's cursing in broken english
fist raised at his God
Another man, holding his neck, is looking for a law suit
A small child is crying as if someone stole her nose and won't give it back
Her screams echo off each foriegn model directly into my ear
I try to block it out with the small of my palms

And I take three pills from a dealer on the street
That I bought for my back and my worn down feet
And the pills go down with a slid and a PLOP
And the pain dies down but the pills won't stop

The police in our small town are all idiots
They parade their badges round with some nerve and some wit
And misdirect traffic into a winding river
Traffic follows there orders, some drowned, some shiver

One still has his shirt un tucked what a mess
From a house called widow with a bright orange dress
And he tries not to show all his sin on his face
But the sun shines bright on a stain in one place

A larger one, shaped like a penguin,
twirls his baton like a school girl
He's looking for trouble
He's headed straight back
No life in his stare
He's eyes are pitch black

They are all part of the small town task force
Full of buffet bribes
And snorted up pride

A dog barks in the back of a police SUV
And I stare him down
And I am late for work
And I hate this town
Where my small life hurts

And the penquin shaped cop taps on my glass
And the pill kicks in
And it kicks in fast
And my legs won't move
And the cars can't pass
And my arms stay pinned
And the door stays glued
And the cop gets mad
And the others get rude
And they pull me out
And kick my ass
And they throw me in with four others into a cattle car
And they rush me off to where the other crooked cattle are

And the room is cramped
And the smell is strong
And the ceiling's grand
And the day seems long

And my friends are few
So there is no bail
And my piss feels warm
In my crooked little cell

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