A squad car lights’ theatricality,
the shimmying astronomy, vivifies
ignobility, makes any midnight plush.
Awash as the windows of a cocktail lounge,
one in which the drinking goes on
well beyond exhaustion and remorse,
these, our eyes, violated
jelly aglisten, swelling, look shifty,
I’m sure, criminal and skittish. We look
where light makes sweeping statements
in the dark’s discourse.
In the siren’s absence, a capella,
who won’t, handcuffed, beg mercy?
Who’d run, one back many bullets’ target?
Giddy this isn’t our trouble, we peer.
The moon hangs full and useless.
The officer’s eerie.
We’re graced, faces all lit up.