I drive in the slow lane—
and see whirling red flashing lights
behind me.
I grow nauseous with dread.
License and registration?
I reach in my glove compartment,
grab a bunch of lollypops, M&M’s,
and a pair of toy Glock guns.
The cop calls for back up.
My hands are cuffed behind my back—
he reads me my Miranda rights.
You look much too old to be driving!
What’s with the wires in your ears,
and why is your nose wierd
like the elephant man?
I have to take you downtown!
I stomp my feet and trumpet
like an elephant who lost his mate.
Milton P. Ehrlich 199 Christie St. Leonia,