Verdictgo

I pass it sometimes
on the freeway,
the chain bus,
a staff of bars along
the windows, flashing
a big gold
badge

back and forth
between the cold walls
of county courts
and county lockup,
property of the state
say the gavels
and guns

diesel fumes
and polished chrome,
white paint
and black glass
seals the innocent,
the guilty,
the sellers,
the shooters

sitting shackled
and silent
as we throw it into 5th
and pop the clutch -
remembering what a wheel
felt like
in their hands,
the radio on,
the smell of
someone
beside them

passing the chain bus
I remember
the night we ran
down railroad tracks
and ducked
into bottlebrushes
with the boombox
and beer cans,
watching the flashlights
bounce around
the bridge

getting kicked out of
dodger stadium
for drinking because
somehow
their hands
in my pockets
missed the powder

buying what I had no business
buying
driving when I had no business
driving
to go where I had no business
going

the stupid buzz I stole for
the backbiting affliction I stole for
the eventual dispossession
I stole for;

I had no answer then.
I have no answer now.

maybe it’s a single moment
or a missed call,
a friend of a friend,
or a bullet
through the window;
maybe it’s what time you
leave the party or
the streets you take
to get home

And then
one morning
you are in a chain bus
on your way to court
to face the music

or in a car
on your way to work
with the music
blowing out the window

and you are driving into the sun,
letting the rhythm
of the ride
keep you numb,
and you carelessly
glance over

and all at once
the air
in your lungs
turns to ice
and the ice
in your eyes
starts to melt
as you think

there is no real reason
why that
should not
be me.