Who knows Your Bank Routing Number

If by fear I write
the rhythm then
is not poem at all
but pen and syntax
carefully thought out
never breathing in and out
and in and out
foot falls
door raps
a cop steps on the front steps
summons justice
my day in court
the broken glass
I still find when
I pack it in and pack it out
Three days wages
two weeks of what
I earn
he won't return
my calls
hems and haws
the phone clicks
time repents
and justice calls