The Kid

elliott!
i’m pulled into a side room.
(how many of these are there?)
turn to your right!
face forward!
turn to your left!
stand in line!
a rough-handed cop grabs my wrist
and shoves it down against a machine.
huh, he says. nothing.
what? i ask.
you’re not in the system, he comments.
i’ve never been arrested before.
detained?
yeah.
here?
no. when i was a kid. sixteen, seventeen.
he drops it immediately.
after i’m fingerprinted, i’m led back to the holding cell.
it smells like shit and piss
and sweat and vomit and alcohol
and blood and semen.
the stench makes me dizzy.

i sit down next to an eighteen year old
white kid that was grabbed just before
he went off to basic.
he is lamenting the raw deal.
his whole life ahead of him.
now he is getting his blue scrubs
after they give him the orange.
three mexicans sit on the opposite side
of the room from us.
another lies underneath the bench bolted to the wall.
the one lying down says something in spanish.
another one gets up and walks over to us.
he points a finger into the skinny kid’s face.
he says, shut up. my friend is trying to sleep.
we don’t know when we’ll be getting a cell.
so he needs as much sleep as he can get.
do i need to make you shut up?

it turns out that he did.

the guards don’t come until the kid’s face
is bloody from a gash in his forehead.
the bench next to me has blood spatter on it.
the mexican looks at me before he’s taken away.
clash doesn’t give a good goddamn fuck, does he?
drawls a guy in a wheelchair.
i say nothing.

eight hours later we’re led out of the room to another.

Clash

have you ever thought of or are you currently thinking of taking your own life?
i lie and say no.
are you on any prescription medications that you may need while incarcerated?
i list them.
we’ll see what we can do.
apparently it’s not time to get put into the holding cell
at oklahoma county jail.
so i get chained to a bench.
hey.
hey. i hear a voice down the hall.
a man in a wheelchair.
hey clash.
(i’m wearing a clash t-shirt.)
hey clash do you have a cigarette i need one.
i shake my head.
hey clash do you have any drugs?
i shake my head again.
hey clash what’d they get you for?
i say nothing.
hey clash you fought the law and the law won, huh?

hey.

hey clash.

Mistake

it’s far too expensive, she says
the gem glitters against the glass
maybe imagination, but it looks
like it casts these shards and shapes
lights and colors that i can’t see.
we can afford it, i assure her.
no, we can’t. let’s move on.
she does. i don’t.
the case open.
the one clerk stares at me
an air of menace?

maybe, maybe. first warning ignored.

but salvation comes in the hands
of a wannabe oklahoma valley girl
and her idiot savant boyfriend.
my fingers edge around the ring.
grasp.
pull.
i swipe two other pieces of jewelry
just for good measure.
to fuck the man.
to spit in the face of commerce.
to make my awkward claim as an anarchist

or something. but more just to pawn off, really.

i slide around the counter
slitherstep move around and step
quickly but not too quick
and pretend i’m looking at clothing.
these department stores are rife
with cameras and seeing eye dog guards
walk. walk. walk the floor
sir can i help you find something?
sir can i assist you?
no. no. i’m fine.

i’m fine. leave me alone. second warning ignored.

the sun is falling down behind the highway
and the air is stale and warm
halfway to the car and one of those voices
(sir can i help you find something?)
yells stop! stop!
keep going. keep walking. i am used to this.
get to the car. don’t look back.
she hesitates. i try to take her hand.
my other hand clutches two rings
and another worth the price of both.

stop! stop!

my face presses hard against the glass
the glare from the dipping sun
hurts my eyes.
but perhaps not as much as the wrench of my arms
behind my back.
i imagine the handcuffs are silver or chrome
and that they catch the sunlight like those rings
the two that lie underneath cars
scattered like fortune runes in the parking lot
she begins to sob.
i’m shoved forward and nearly trip over my feet.
the remaining ring is separated from my hand.

i didn’t count on this.

the guard was substantially bigger.
i could tell that it took no effort
to move my scrawny drugged out body.
shoved into a small room in the corner
of the store just waiting. waiting.
the guard dog camera watcher asks me questions
why are you stealing?
because i wanted this for her.
don’t you work?
i can’t find a job in this economy that pays well.
are you on drugs?
not at the moment.
but you have been on drugs?
in my life? yes.
fucking funny, smart ass.

thanks.

the guard dog talks to me about school.
a knock at the door and she’s outside.
she’s begging and still sobbing
the bigger guy walks out with her.
the skinnier one went to art school.
tough racket, he says. tough racket.
yeah, i wanted to be a writer.
that’s more or less the same, isn’t it?
more or less.
i need a picture from you before the cops come.
panic rises up in my throat.
we’ll be pressing full charges for theft.
i want to throw up on the table they sat me at.
you seem like a smart kid.

it’s a shame that you fucked yourself.

he gets out a camera and adjusts the lenses.
the brick wall guard dog comes back into the room.
i swear he has to walk sideways
to get through the door.
perhaps my over-indulged sense of bravado
sparks memory that he’s far far larger
than any man ought to be.
now smile. smile, says the skinny one.
he points the camera at me.
smile and say i’m going to jail.

i manage a weak one.

O, how I despise distance.

O, how I despise distance.
That bitter wall, barrier, cage
against the swelling of my love.
It’s nothing personal.
But believe me sincere when I say:
that if all distance were
dissipated and all lands joined
like hands clasped in rapt anticipation
or prayer,
my thoughts would never stray
from my desire to be with you.

Your breath is my breath
and your skin my skin.
My heart is your heart
and the warmth that enfolds it
can perform this miracle
if only for the length of a dream
that speeds me off to sleep
and allows me to drown
in the sweetness of your everything.

But, o, distance, this I despise:
cage; wall; barrier; blockade.
that it should bar me from my nature
and find no mercy in its heart
(as it surely must have a heart)
to allow me one moment, one second
that I may wrap into eternity
and draw forth the dream into life,
paring down the miles and miles
that separate me from the home
of my longing.

Our path is lit and the road

Our path is lit and the road
that we must walk is long
and precarious.
Thorns and brambles may lay
just off the path
beyond reach of the light,
in shadow and darkness
but I will turn my back to them
and take the ragged pain
of the bedraggled barbs,
to cover you.

Our path is lit and the road
is paved with the struggles
that we have long since left behind.
Your burdens are heavy;
lay them down so that I may lift them
and carry them upon my shoulders
just as you have for so long.
As we have set our steps upon this path
so shall I follow it until its end
and wear your burdens with mine
and mingle them into one, as we are.

Our path is lit and the road
is slick and inlaid with mud
from incessant rain
that bears down upon us.
I will bear my coat above you
to block a single drop
from falling upon your face.
That rain will not have the providence
to touch you
for the length and breadth of the way.

Our path is lit and the road is long,
rain-slicked, precarious, weighted
with ancient burdens we both bring,
but I will shield you and carry
the weight of us,
as you would for me,
for as long as this road lasts.
I swear that the distance of our travels
will be struck with light and love–
and the precipitous journey of life itself
will be forged into joy.