Ai, 'Interview With A Policeman'

[sashay-away.livejournal.com]

You say you want this story
in my own words,
but you won’t tell it my way.
Reporters never do.If everybody’s racist
that means you too
.I grab your finger,
as you jab it at my chest.
So what the mini cam caught that?
You want to know all about it, right? —
the liquor store, the black kid
who pulled his gun
at the wrong time.
You saw the dollars he fell on and bloodied.
Remember how cold it was that night,
but I was sweating.
I’d worked hard, I was through
for twenty for hours
and I wanted some brew.
When I heard a shout,
I turned and saw the clerk
with his hands in the air
saw the kid drop his gun,
as I yelled and ran from the back.
I only fired when he bent down,
picked up his gun and again dropped it.
I saw he was terrified,
saw his shoulder and head jerk to the side
as the next bullet hit.
When I dove down, he got his gun once more
and fired wildly.

Liquor poured onto the counter, the floor
onto which he fell back finally,
still firing now toward the door,
when his arm flung itself behind him,
I could hear dance music
over the sound of liquor spilling and spilling
and when I balanced on my hands
and stared at him, a cough or spasm
sent a stream of blood out of his mouth
and hit me in the face.
Later, I felt as if I’d left part of myself
stranded on that other side,
where anyplace you turn is down,
is out for money, for drugs,
or just for something new like shoes
or sunglasses,
where your own rage
destroys everything in its wake
including you.
Especially you.
Go on, set your pad and pencil down,
turn off the camera, the rape.
The ape in the gilded cage
looks too familiar, doesn’t he
and underneath it all,
like me, you just want to forget him.
Tonight, though, for awhile you’ll lie awake.
You’ll hear the sound of gunshots
in someone else’s neighbourhood,
then comforted, turn over in your bed
and close your eyes,
but the boy like a shark redeemed at last,
yet unrepentant
will reenter your life
by the unlocked door of sleep
to take everything but his fury back.

Comments

[kindness_says]

Tough. Interesting.

[sashay-away.livejournal.com]

I know. Especially all the imagery in the poem, with the 'liquor pouring onto the floor' to 'stepping out to buy something new --like shoes'. It's eery and somehow, hauntingly peaceful at the same time. I think that particular emotion is captured perfectly by the last few lines about "turning around in your bed and being comforted by the gunshots in someone else's neighborhood."

[duathir.livejournal.com]

This poem means a great deal to me; thank you for posting.

[sashay-away.livejournal.com]

You're welcome.

[bennybunny.livejournal.com]

Astounding. My gratitude for sharing it.