cardiac arrest

> officer, officer.
why the stop? why the pause-
between your words, why the slur,
in your speech? officer, it’s peachy out,
isn’t it? windy as it tends to be, sunny somehow,
and yet you blame the rain for your wet cheeks.
>

> officer, my love, what is love to you?
put down your golden badge, match-
my pace. we’ll go the speed limit, of course;
we’re no monsters now, are we? here:
you can have the keys.
>

> open the door, officer. i’m knocking outside.
no warrant, now, but you could give me one,
wouldn’t you? officer, my dearest, i’ve brought-
you a gift. it could be a dead rat, or a string of cheese,
or a big red heart with an offering of peace. open it, officer.
>

> meet me now, officer; you’ve been summoned. i-
command it, shakily as i may. it’s been a-
day, and i can’t wait to see you again. i’ll bring you-
a rose, or a cold plate of food, or-
pages of prose with your name all over them, or-
a big black ticking time bomb before it blows-
up in my face.
>

> down with the tyranny, officer. down with this futility.
down with your house arrests and probations, and down-
with your grip on my throat. it hurts now. you know that.
you can see the winter come, and my kingdom fall,
you can see them all-
trembling for another drag, another stupid lavender bag-
with their guns stashed inside. did you lie, officer?
>

> you wouldn’t know it. your bodycam’s off,
and that’s okay. nobody needs to know, do they?
you can find a fault in my brand-new taillights,
or a smudge on the plates, or an all-too-dark window-shade,
if only it means that we’ll meet again.
>

> what is this, officer? don’t you wonder-
what my two matching bucket hats would think,
what the birds would drink, if you never watered the fountain?
why the buckets of hail? can’t we make it snow,
even if there’s no-
way that you’ll ever admit you’re feeling cold?
>

> you’re sick, officer. you’re sick. here,
get some medicine. i’ll have some too,
if only you promise not to leave when i’m asleep.
i’m drowsy, of course; i’ve been up this whole time,
watching out for the monsters under your bed,
thinking about every word you never said,
every moment that led-
us here.
>

> so, my dear officer, may we go out?
the people might see, and they might talk about-
the cuffs on our hands, the stuffs in your throat, and,
of course, the water on the oil ocean that just-so-barely-
manages to stay afloat. it’ll be okay, though, no?
we can put on our hats, and you can pull me over,
even in the day, when there’s no discreet couch to stay,
no demons in your head to slay with lemon-knives,
and when the bees are making honey to decorate their hives?
>

> write me a warrant, and-
break into my house. you have the keys, still, but-
that won’t matter. shatter the windows, miss sonic boom,
and set fire to the whole place. we’ll watch it burn, and-
i’ll bring my old popcorn. that should be a good enough excuse-
for me to stay,
right? or just for the night?
>