The Police Check Point Poem by Dr Ronnie Bai

My heart sinks and my head spins
as I face a sudden avalanche of them crashing down
to engulf me entirely, entirely.

There they are, both familiar and strange a sight,
dressed in anti-terrorist dark
flashing red, blue, white
armed to the teeth with handguns, pepper-sprays
batons tapping, cuffs clinking clanking
cowardly beyond the band couching
where no motorists driving up the road can see
their cunning column of orange cones in a neat line
narrowing down nauseously to a bottleneck
fortressed by a shiny flank of new Holden V8s
where each and every unsuspecting car is tightly grabbed.

The idea of a massive criminal hunt
is quickly dismissed
by the menacing sight of smirking sergeants
in the looming shadow of a parked huge caravan
bearing a small sign -
Blood Alcohol Test Lab -
a smokescreen for vehicle checking on an early Wednesday morning
unexpectedly right beyond the run-down school
a boring banner banging out hefty heart-wrenching fines.

Snuffing the flickering thoughts of a screeching U-turn,
like a fish that has no reverse gear
I find myself head-along dragged to a haul -
gut-hooked, bleeding, on the bottom of a landing net.

O, my heart sinks deeper, and my head spins faster.
I want to cry,
I want to beg,
I want to smile,
I want to give him the eye
I want to use my charm as a woman -
But, hold on!
Maybe he is gay,
Or I am too fat (as my old man would teasingly say) .
Or rather, I want to pronounce some proud words of profanity, out aloud.

Without a smile, he lets me go,
for the breather I confide into reveal
no drink. I am not smiling, My heart is crying, I know what is coming.

I want to confess to the other solemn policeman
who beckons me to pull up to the side
and buries his head deeply in his holy booklet of traffic fines
that I have every pardonable causes for my dreadful crime
in displaying out-of-date certificates of both vehicle testing
and registration.

I want you to know
that my old dented Datsun is devoted and reliable
and has never let me down
You know
it belonged to my late father
who used it to date my mum.

Sensing the unsentimental sneer
I will just give it to you square
though I am sure that you have heard many people say -
my dole money is
hardly sufficient
for the whole family
for my two school-age girls
for the little one
wrapped in a blanket
sitting next to me in the same old
child-safety car seat
her sisters have used
sucking on a dummy
for the rent
(that has not been increased for the past five years
by the understanding landlord)
for the bills
(that are steadily going up every year)
for my unemployed old man
who loves his six-packs
to make him feel
as strong as
policeman.

One hoarse voice then hushes me pre-emptively,
To spare me from being by the sum traumatized,
That you would often broadcast around publicly:
Over other crimes, by which our city is terrorized,
Diligent Traffic Policing has forever top priority,
For common sense tells us life is often jeopardized,
Unless Traffic infringement is dealt with earnestly.
Even if it means all police force must be mobilized.

Knowing all these I keep my mouth shut.
whether people should appreciate
the government’s concern over our driving
and vehicle condition,
or whether income from fines
obesizes the police body
is no business of a weak and whining woman
like me to bemoan.
What I have to worry is not only
the ultra tight
family budget
over
the whole year to come
but also my old man, whom I have to placate, and placate...
___ . ___. ___. ___

Oh, God damn you, man!
Have you no other better place to play around?