cops stop me
’bout once a week,
sometimes more.
bike, foot, ancient truck.
they state different reasons why,
but always ask
“where u going?”
“where u been?”
me confused
but I’m not
and that’s a problem.

Grandpa told me a recipe
for dealing with the law.
a log.
a shovel.
a big bag of lye.


8 thoughts on “OLD ORDER

  1. Thanks to Sir Edgar for hounding me to contribute to the site he’s put together here. This poem was originally a letter I wrote to him apologizing for missing a deadline. I was stalling for time to come up with more verse, and in explaining to him what had happened to me that day, I realized with minor mods it was actually two poems. A nice surprise. I do get stopped by police a couple times a month. I look like a Mormon, so who knows what profile I fit, but it is frustrating. I respect and value the rule of law, and I know they have a tough job, but they really need to leave me the f alone and go after somebody from BP or Citibank or Raytheon or Nestle.

    1. Stopped constantly and not arrested or ticketed is harrasment. Guess I better call the… oh wait. The bulls used to beat Verle my grandfather up for no reason in the 20s when he was living on the street. He was a very nice and gentle man but had an attitude if you pushed him. And this really was his recipe, except he also said to cut off the hands feet and head and bury them separately.

      I have had a big camoflauged open side door helicopter repeatedly circle my fields at very low altitude on four separate occasions this year already. The last time immediately after the password on my wireless router was mysteriously reset at the same time as one of these fly overs. I hope I can convince them to land and have a beer and maybe then I can ask them why they do what they do. Granted they are probably just sweeping everybody’s routers for standard spooky purposes, and granted my hay field is beautiful, I know I like to circle it on my hands and knees even, so I can’t blame them for wanting to come around for a third and fourth look.

      If only they’d smile and wave or throw me some taffy… That would be fun.

      1. I’d also like to add that my little brother’s husband is a cop, and he seems a nice fellow and all. As I said I respect police and soldiers, but currently they are in the employment of a very nasty technological system of greed and ugliness. I am in the unpaid unemployment of what few beautiful corners are left around here.

  2. Wow.

    Last time I got pulled over, I just told them the truth: it was the LAST day of school aka me having to teach kids that year, I was burnt out, tired and just wanted to get HOME.

    He let me off with a warning.

  3. this might not be related then. but. dunno. feeeeeels like it is. a story about an experience that your poem reminds me of.

    I was in an extremely angry mood at work monday. I think it was sugar or coffee withdrawal. dunno. riding home on my bike, I passed a homeless man who barked “(something) (something) FAGGOT!”. I screeched me brakes and looked back at the guy, losing it. they’ve been all screechy for the last week, so this was easy.
    some old fucked up dude with a beard on a bench with his bags of shit. I threw my mike towards the nearby building and stormed back at him, shouting “what? WHat?”
    he muttered something about “Oh not you. that other guy. with the middle finger”. I tried to clarify his answer with an in depth line of questioning, like “WhAAT THE FUCK DID YOU SAY TO ME?!” and again he clarified. this time pointing out something about he was saying it to some guy in the back of a truck who’d tried to spit on him just now.
    which reminded me of somehting Waldow once said, about how if you sit on any street corner long enough, someone will drive by and spit on you. my emotions flip flopped. I said I was sorry. he said “hey, don’t fuck up your bike man”. I stormed off and felt like a little shit.

    sure enough my bike was fucked up. actually it’s carrie’s bike but i’ll fix it. every few times around it pops out of gear for a second for some reason. weird.

    1. Confronting the cruster was the way to go.

      Please lie to me if u have to and tell me u were riding the bike in a dark sportscoat. Too late. That’s how I picture it already.

      -The Lying Lion

    2. Congratulations Warren. U were our 2001st reader hit at Carbon Noise. I think that bodes well pal, or should I say Hal.

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