License and registration.

An ancient lump of human flesh stands out my window.
His gut even larger than his ego,
capable of catching nothing but the common cold.
Donut sprinkles scattered across his mustache,
he looks down on me with his black shades.

However his shades are not as black as his badge,
rusted from the long years of sitting in a police station
where corruption, racism, and brutality slowly infected
the silver shine that once represented the sheriff.
He thinks I'm trifling, he thinks I fear him.

I will leap out of this car,
rip the eroded badge from his chest
and treat him like he treated Oscar Grant.
I refrain, his regrets will torture his psyche
until he lays up in the shade like an old dog.
That guilt is more powerful than any pain I could inflict.

Just slow down around here, have a safe night.