The Gonzo Wolf

Four cars, one cop.

A single block for him to mop.

While engines waste those dollar signs.

To show up when the voters whine.

Why this night when not before?

When shot or robbed at corner-store.

The people here are on their own.

That’s mighty fine; leave us alone.

Each flashing light; each siren-shiver.

This side of the goddamn river.

Texas flood to bleach them white.

Or torment colors day and night.

Until discovered; time of need.

Our Votes and bullets still succeed.

When blood and might have failed each time.

A fond “hello” to those in line.