I parked my car on a yellow line. Policemen told
me to move it away. (They say the right to complain is mine.) — I was sorry, we argued, they swore. I was fine Till they grabbed my neck, hit me and punched me that day I parked my car on a yellow line.
Two police officers chose to combine, Arrest, drive me off, call me shiftface. I lay (They say the right to complain is mine) In the road outside Hounslow Police Station, nine Or ten steps from the door. They are right when they say I parked my car on a yellow line So they kick me between my legs, and decline To fetch doctor or water, condemn me to stay (They say the right to complain is mine) Two hours, sick with pain, very swollen, a sign Of a testicle broken. The fine that I pay. I parked my car on a yellow line.
(They say the right to complain is mine.)
Ruth Silcock
This poem is taken from three articles in the Observer — 20.9.87, 27.9.87 and 4.10.87
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