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.