by Bryon D. Howell

*******

I do not miss reporting once a week -
his accusations, doubts, and hardened quips.
No matter what I said, I was a freak.
He'd tap his foot, his hands upon his hips.
He wore a golden badge upon his belt.
He wore a tie and shoes which always shined!
He never asked me how it was I felt.
He'd merely try to crawl inside my mind.
He'd ask if I created some new crime.
And even if i did? What dare I say?
His cuffs beside his badge most every time.
I'd fill that cup, and thus - be on my way.
For seven years I paid - I paid this debt.
Remorse? I learned to pee without regret.

*******