after all these long years
the poet in me rats me out...
offers me a plea bargain...
places my hands on my head
and escorts me at gunpoint
out into the siren-searchlights
where I Freeze! Up against
the wall! Assume the stance!
And in the hallowed halls of
The Poetic Justice Department…
beneath the bare lightbulb…
strapped into the polygraph’s
hot-seat and other hardware of
your goodcop-badcop world…
I sing like a canary
spill my guts
name names
on thousands of blank pages
into hundreds of open mic’s…
Look, I’m cooperatin’, see?
Yeah, yeah, I know--
anything I say ‘can and
will be used against me’--
but these is my stories, see?
and I’m stickin’ to’em…
see?