Presumed Guilty

On the new Select Bus,
You buy your ticket first.
Machines out on the street
Are where the tickets are disbursed.

There isn’t a conductor there
To see if you have paid.
I made a dumb assumption
That of course all folks obeyed.

Today I saw that theory,
Like old flowers, go all wilty,
When I realized the authorities
Presumed we all were guilty.

‘Cause as I went to exit,
Someone stood right in my path.
He was an MTA guy
Who demanded, spewing wrath,

“I need to see your ticket!”
It was said like a command.
I smoothed it out from where it was,
All crumpled in my hand.

He glanced at it and let me go
And I just felt confused.
I’d done exactly nothing wrong
And yet I felt accused.

Perhaps the honor system
Has some losers who abuse it;
But treating me like one of them
Can really make me lose it!