by Nick Gisburne
He spells his name, a letter at a time,
And smiles to see the writing in her book.
A petty, unimaginative crime,
The fine should not deserve a second look.
For days like this he memorised the law,
A little knowledge, day by day, with lunch.
She quotes the code but he, of course, knows more.
The loopholes let him land a sucker punch.
In arguments to which a judge would yield,
He points to statutes, by-laws, by the ton,
Expecting her to bend, to leave the field,
Conceding he is right, the battle won.
The officer knows something he does not,
The silence when a stubborn man is shot.
