Upper Echelon

A handful of poetry takes place inside

A hoosegow its striped bars 

Opened now letting go a whoop 

Likely a bout of retro relief

Post-surviving some roundabout

Having unmangled the ruse of which cirque-

de-symmetry can roust you out

Of the curse of cheaper paths than traffic

Lights supposed to save the public

A few dollops of cash ashen 

Once they're figured in

To the whole meaning a hole in kind

Of a onesie feign of rabbit's foot 

Instead of the inevitable cold cock