Standing in The Lineup

Of course, I knew I was innocent, at least on this account. Maybe though, I thought, I'm here undercover, the "shill," so to speak. I wondered if I should affect a limp. Trying to remember other poets who had been falsely accused, the names Villon, Genet, and Pound arose immediately...but even to this day, I'm not sure if "falsely" is the proper word.

Really, I should be back in my sickbed dreaming those feverish dreams of lost love or the whole rehash of a misunderstood childhood...not in a lineup. After all, I'm wearing my house slippers and a bathrobe that is ratty and scarred with all sorts of fluids. Meanwhile, this goes through my mind: There's no need for anyone to get hurt, not here, not right this moment. All the chameleon girls, pretty as pretty can be, blend in...often some small imperfection adds to their perfection. I'm probably the only one here not playing a game, but who cares. Today is another one of those days when poetry gets easily overshadowed by politics and other shooting stars of a media gone wild as western culture.

Tell the guard I want to go back to my cell...another hour there and I'll get to call my lawyer...