OBJECTION, YOUR HONOUR
Ironic liberty caps put him in the dock here.
Plus a system not quite broken but severely bent.
Climbed a sycamore entranced by the texture, the scent.
Then someone comes down the road. Too late to disappear.
This officer of the law – you see his type worldwide.
Worships petty regulations. (i.e. benighted.)
“I proceeded to caution the accused who replied …”
The constable consulted his notebook, recited
“‘Oh, the colours, the colours,’ he giggled and sighed.”
Now the magistrate’s favourite part, inducing fear.
The power to deal harshly with any miscreant.
“Something you wish to say before I pronounce judgement?”
“Beam me up, Scotty. It’s getting rather hot down here.”