Tag You're It

When license plates expire
every black and white
is a cop or a skunk.

I slow to hug a truck's front
bumper
to hide my tags,
faith and hope
beading beneath the brim
of my baseball cap.

Criminal activity;
ignoring calendars,
fudging checkbooks,
skimping on the cheese
in a work day sandwich.

I insert the receipts for poems
rendered into the ATM,
blank looks from the screen.

C.S. Lewis says other worldly rewards
rhyme with brother, not
bother.