Mommy thought me old enough,
To walk 15 metres from the car,
To the bistro alone,
For that treat,
I objected but walked,
Maybe 10 or 14.
And there he was shaking in the sun,
Covered in a liquid one may call blood,
Hands behind his back,
Handcuffed, as the police did stuff to his shaking form.
He'd tried to raid the bistro,
The grown man.
Clearly lost it,
Desires quite full.
Lying in the parking lot,
By the pavement!
As the police increased the pool of his blood.
I walked past and bought,
My treat.
Soon the bistro,
Would be sold,
And close,
And the nearby butcher also left,
As did we.
Its sometimes hard to drive,
To the shops alone.
And when I see people,
Being assaulted by security or police,
I never stop or interfere.
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