Without A Report On File
I asked them for the fuller varieties
of daylight or of sun-going-down.
If they had any in the back. Could I take a look at it?
And they give me this shirt
with a saying on it. The saying
fled as if bled right off the front.
In many ways this was a run-in,
the law always in motion. I could catch it,
to put it away for life. It might make itself transparent,
avail itself to a monitored process. Did I
look back at it? I reasoned
the reasons were sound. They made their
decision after fairly considering the evidence before them. This
is the long arm of justice,
her scales sliding at the incline.
If I have ever wished to stand on a boardwalk
it is now when I am not around planks.
If all I wanted was seamlessness, I’d
finally found it and was less than
satisfied. With seams only inches apart, I reasoned,
it was much more likely my luck would
turn one of these planks. Indeed,
the last plank was like an upright
wooden fence post, seams and all.
My luck turned. Turned my luck
into a partitioned plot of land. This more
than made up for the shirt and the saying and the fleeing.