deputy

On Citing People, Part One

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On Citing People, Part One

I’m in vehicle sixteen and parked in

plain sight. Words-with-Friends may

be open, but I still study an intersection.

A tiny green “Smart Car” roars through

the limit line and I grin.

My cell phone hits my duty

bag as the accelerator is smashed.

The stares and mouths agape never

gets old. Within moments, I’ve tracked

my prey and call it in cautiously

checking for hazards. Patiently, I wait

for my gut and eyes to

digest what’s in front of me.

Ticket or warning? The egregious

violator pulls over. Cautiously, I creep

along his mini vehicle, tapping my

gun handle and peering  into the

cab, searching for the driver’s hands.

I start my spiel… anger and

saliva are his rebuttal. Geez

guy, it’s just a ticket…verbal

Judo fails, a soft smile fails,

hands conveying peace fails. I consider

a hasty retreat, walking away since

it’s not worth it, but I’ve

seen this routine before. Ah ha!

Now I smell it, the “medicine”

that causes some people to act

imbecilic. I’m into the car now,

sniffing and searching like a canine.

I find his stash, the reason for

the deflection, his attempt to throw

me off my game. Now he’s

in handcuffs, and I smirk.

I impound the “Smart Car,” which causes

the tow truck driver, a mean,

gruff, and burly man, to point

and chuckle at the accused…judging

him without a robe or wig.

A Poem

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Nothing Sexy About Dope

No matter how one spins it,

the dope game is dirty, from

every angle, in every state, even internationally.

We pay bad guys, commonly

called “CI’s,” to buy dope off

other bad guys, sometimes their

competition, so we can get paper,

and knock their doors down legally.

The war on drugs, although a

righteous idea, has failed, without

a doubt, for over thirty years.

The cartels have greater resources

than every law enforcement unit combined,

and they profit tens of billions annually,

live like kings with gold-plated rifles,

Siberian Tigers, and mansions built

with walls infused with bundles of cash.

Dead bodies pile up in Mexico, and

that violence seeps into the United States.

Cops, border patrol agents, and other

law enforcement groups take the bait,

get a huge payday to look the other way,

yet they always get caught and tons of

drugs penetrate the US with alarming

magnitude. This stuff consumed me

for six years…but I have the perfect plan.

Choke the borders with money sniffing

canines, intercept every penny of drug money

heading into Mexico, use it to get

Americans off drugs. Death doesn’t

bother them, losing drugs to the police

is expected, but taking their money?

Yeah, it infuriates them to no end,

causes severe grief, forces them to

pop pills pacifying ulcers. Only then

will the real war begin.

-C.L.Swinney © 2015