Are You Worried About Yourself?
an illegal cigarette. Was he ex-army?
Talk to the daughter, she's
the one who'll know: 'He never hurt me'.
There's the panic alarm, the chase,
yellow metal, never-ending sirens
calling to us, calling through green tunnels,
tiles, streets. The only respite,
to sleep like a child in a blanket,
sort through drawers, history, meaning.
Tell the press who's got the motive,
wrong place, wrong time, what happens
when you arrest someone.
Perhaps you need a little bit
of distance: please, try to remember.
So, we got the wrong man, flowers won't do
any good this time. 'The bastard deserved it.'
Let's say this isn't justice. An error of judgement,
if it's corrupt? Do we have something
to hide, this time?
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