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.
This entry was posted in Uncategorized and tagged author, car stops, caring, citations, comedy, confusion, cops, deputy, deputy sheriff, humor, law, law enforcement, life, people, poem, poetry, police, police work, public.
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
This entry was posted in Uncategorized and tagged #ASMSG, #GRSM101, #ian1, author, c.l. swinney, deputy, drugs, fresh, government, informants, law, law enforcement, narcotics, poem, poetry, police, policy, support, war, war on drugs, writing.