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No Boyscout

He was a friend
of a friend.
A dirty undercover cop
that would set you up
and then bust your ass.
Selling drugs,
or guns,
or minors,
and then,
once caught,
for a price,
let you go,
and sell it
all
elsewhere.
I met him again
in his bar
doing a choke
kill all
hold
on a fat child
selling peanuts
He was drunk:
I knew
as he had left his gun
behind. Him
having the urge
and the tendency
to fire it
when drunk.
I didn't’t like what I saw,
but him being a friend,
of a friend
and a man
you:
living on the edge
in the gray zone
of the written law
didn't want as your enemy,
let it slide,
having sold out
of morals for less
than that,
like a god lay
or momentary oblivion.

I left at five
having sampled
and tried
everything
but the minors.

poem by Carsten Thomsen
Added by Poetry Lover
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