John Ten Ten

 

Dear John,
What is it about the law,
That barely visible ink,
Embedded in
Thin worn paper
That feels like
Cauterized flesh.

What is it about enforcers of law,
These abattoir workers,
These human scythes,
Pushing the poor through slaughter lines
With each call for help they receive.

Is he the thief you spoke of?
The man dressed in blue
Waving gun and wearing shield
Whose oath, not to protect and serve
But rather to kill.