Potatoes

Two Dead Weights

1

A piece of trash in front of flag
(his favorite one's Confederate -
but stars and stripes, although a drag
draws in a greater aggregate),

drawls enmity, with relish
( his peers will slap their knee):
"If you abolish the police,
you'll have to deal with me.

Not tear-gas, rubber-bullets, no
nor truncheons made to whup you -
its bullets for your kind, you know,
and we'd be coming for you."

Oh, yeah?

Think posse, unopposed in gore,
would whoop, "Hot damn!" to cronies?
Real and bloody civil war
would hunt you down like coneys.

But it won't come to that he knows;
like a mutt behind a fence
he growls with such impunity
the posts his stout defense

Hucklberry's dad on Twitter;
must hit another bottle -
rolls like a dog, a snitter,
snores a tractor's throttle.

It's you police protected,
privileged your profanity:
vermin life rejected,
gnawing your ragged sanity.

...............

A snitter is one who throws a fit on Twitter.
Based on a video Twitter post I saw yesterday

.....................

2

Da Chief Speaks

Nearh! Give me your attention,
'cos I have something to say, for a change.
Yeah. See this badge. This badge... this badge...
I polish it every morning, clean it like a mirror,
and so does all these good men behind me,
I meanz polish deir own badges, all squeaky clean.
Yet you tink we are animals and treat us like doit.
It's about time we had some respect,
but you leave us out of the conversation.
We have no say. You should be ashamed.
Dese men are law enforcement artists.
They are highly strung - and when off duty -
they will highly string any of youse!
Dis man is such a master with the baton
it would make you cry to see him woik;
at least it would if he was beating on you.
Dis man is a marksman - a rubber bullet sniper,
could take out a journalist-lady's eye at 100 yoids.
Dis man is a master of restraint. He eats twenty burgers
a day to ensure he squashes resistance
and he knows twenty nine choke holds,
including the one where he holds the handrail
and barfs into the John. Yes. Yes. Yet you pin him down
with cowardly woids. You dismiss us all,
us, all of us masters of Killology and Command
Control. Dese men are like thoroughbreds,
da very red ruM of these backward streets.
And you try to make them sorry so-and-soes.
You hoit their feelings. You abandon them.
Well, I'm proud of you boyz, and so I will be
till the day I toin in my badge
                                            to the guy wid the foik.