That cloud does a mean imitation of a cloud,
in that no cloud can sit still for a portrait
or to learn how to drive a car,
even if it has an automatic transmission,
though some people drive like a drunken cloud
if you read the notes cops make
at the bottom of tickets, including
“I feel so alone” on the last one I got,
for going sideways in a state of confusion
in a straight ahead with purpose zone.
My problem with cops is my problem with power:
few of us should have it because most of us
want it, and most of us are OK
with stepping on ants. But clouds want nothing
but to get on with coming together
and falling apart, beautifully
if possible, though not to them,
given their lack of mirrors and eyes
and all sorts of other things,
such as the ability always, and the need
sometimes, to scream.