If there is ever a time to commit a crime, it during a funeral
Of a fallen officer of the law. With such a large line of mourners
Stopping traffic down the Avenue, it raises questions of who is
"Protecting" our not-so-fair city---whose funding is anything but
Ample. Members of the progression are dressed in their uniforms,
Riding in their civilian vehicles with hands clasped solemnly at
"Ten and two," keeping their wheels from veering, anticipating
More white-knuckled grasping when 21 shots are heard overhead
---They'll still flinch with every "fire" despite knowing what to expect.

Witnesses of the parade, may hear a faint cry, before the wails
Of sirens screaming in passing. Their eyes may sting with the flashing
Of red and blue, in front and behind. They may shiver in the reflective
Pools of the sunglasses worn by the motorcade escort; somber, sober,
Sentinels letting you know not to progress too hastily. No one is there
To write up their tickets with charges of impeding traffic.

Even as I thought out these words, I met their grief cordially;
It's normally hard to empathize with an presence you find contemptuous.
Today, I was moved by the spectacle, despite my schedule being stifled.
As I mulled over what I experienced, I defied traffic law;
Running through red lights, I expected to see a lone cruiser, red and blue
Alternating on the roof. What would I tell them I was thinking
While I committed my infraction? Would my words excuse me in the occasion?
"Gee officer, I have no excuse, but I have this poem about y'all."