Poetry |

“Awful Precinct”

I had to steal something. That

shoe from under the sofa,

I lay it beside its muddy mate and

walked out the door towards

the trove, the booty,

the nice office, the esteem

of my peers, (as promised),

and I even stole the calm that

comes with not caring.

I had thought I was stealing everything right,

but no, so I stole harder,

folding sheets, cooking coq au vin,

smiling more, asking you questions

about your life. And did you

travel, as you said you might,

to Croatia?I then had to steal

my own drowning itself

through detective programs,

where evil is exposed

then punished, eventually,

after much suffering, pain.

Serial killers! who knew

there were so many? And O,

how every cop’s partner also steals.

A wife, maybe, or his job, or maybe

our diligent officer is demoted,

sent to an awful precinct

as punishment while the carnage

goes on. The nether posting

is theft-proof, the precinct deserved,

the last chance, the burnt out bulb.

He truly did not believe he could

fail and thus I dragged my

bones through larcenies, betrayals,

the cry in the dream, the crazed

cell in my organ, my mind

that can’t steal anymore, not even fog,

let alone a meaning, a comfort,

an address or phone. I wanted

to metamorphose naturally into

a better being by now,

a firefighter, nurse, or a woman

unfailingly kind, someone who does not

beg the gods of junk and jangle

for yet another stealing.

Contributor
Connie Voisine

Connie Voisine is a poet and teacher. She’s had poems published in The New Yorker, Poetry Magazine, Huizache and elsewhere. Her fourth collection of poems, The Bower, is forthcoming from the University of Chicago Press in 2019.

Posted in Poetry

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