John Allen - jose

when i think of the boy
or man, depending upon
your perspective
locked in a white hallway
between two
steel doors,
staring through
meshed windows with
eyes dead
as a bored shark,
diffident smile
crusting brown skin, i
can only think: wrong.
but his fists moved when
free, dry knuckles
tapping the needy-
those always in
line for medication.
lightly,
but tapping nonetheless
a hungry
animal scratching at
an absent
owners' door.
then, maybe
i think: right. but then
i remember the
faint handshake
he gave me one night,
leaving some white
digressions on madness
in my sweating palms.
then i think of
when he finally
tapped me, and what
does it matter to you?
there was only
later on
the popcorn crunch
of handcuffs, a scream
and the sound of
police tires like
tired oceans
bringing in
the night's polluted currents

John Allen

http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/jose/