Officer Krupke
by Peter Loaf
The john was handsome, wealthy and slick
His limo cruising, his pickup sick
Cruising Big Apple
The back seat grapple
Black windows cover, post coital trick
His driver stopping, joining in back
Two on one struggle, under attack
The rope binding tight
The wet stormy night
Two on one fucking, the deck to stack
After it’s over, taken to park
Helpless half naked, wet cold and dark
The long drought ending
There’s no defending
Tossed into wallow, helpless mud lark
The thunder crashing, the pouring rain
Central Park empty, struggle in vain
Liberties taken
By luck forsaken
Mud wallow crawling, inches to gain
The cops patrolling, their slickers wet
Their horses walking, the lighting threat
By gag kerfuffled
My screaming muffled
The storm is raging, I cannot get
The water rising, inching up hill
My panic driving, nose screaming shrill
In mud I’m slipping
My bondage gripping
Reservoir empty, rapid refill
An inchworm humping, making the grade
Half naked helpless, and freshly laid
The rope restraining
Bondage detaining
The helpless hooker, dirty trick played
Horses come trotting, mud splashing sound
Face down and muddy, feet sloshing round
Helplessly hoping
Somebody groping
“How’s tricks Sweet Suzie? Lucky we found”
Lifting hands rolling, leaving the gag
To bent knees lifted, I cannot sag
“I see you met Roy.”
“He’s such a bad boy.”
Given a hosing, put in a bag
Still in my rigging, locked in the boot
Officer Krupke, dirty old coot
Warehouse deliver
Down by the river
The hooker booking, the photo shoot
Evidence gathered, finally released
Hot shower waiting, while palms are greased
Then into a cell
My new place to dwell
Street Cleaning Detail, the hooker seized
Cargo containers, hoisted aboard
Sold into slavery, some can afford
The whores disappear
Then down to the pier
Looting resources, justice ignored
Slow boat to Saudi, in center packed
Through customs clearing, containers stacked
The dregs deporting
There’s no reporting
Bank in the Caymans, money untracked
