Apparently deep down, despite knowing a few cops, I do not trust them any more than anyone else.
We walk through gray halls,
Damp and hard stone,
Until we come to the cell.
Already she looks affronted by the size,
A space no wider than her arms’ length,
Rectangular enough to fit a bed,
And not much else.
They ask me, the men, what she’ll need,
If there’s anything I can think of.
I’m the one outside, so I can make decisions
For her. She gives me a manic look, that
Angry fearful pleading, and makes suggestions
As if they should have been, easily,
The first things out of my mouth.
Nothing comes out of my mouth.
Because I can’t think except to think
I’ve put my girlfriend in prison.
And what she did wasn’t enough to warrant it,
But I knew the cops would do it anyway,
If I called them to help us. And now,
Even if it’s only for a month, only a day,
This will always be between us.
The next day, at work, I’m with one of the men.
It’ll be all right, he says, and I break
Everything, stones and beads and glass
Shattering apart in my hands
Before they hit the ground.