Rape

There is a cop who is both prowler and father: / he comes from your block, grew up with your brothers, / had certain ideals. / You hardly know him in his boots and silver badge, / on horseback, one hand touching his gun. / You hardly know him but you have to get to know him: / he has access to machinery that could kill you. / He and his stallion clop like warlords among the trash, / his ideals stand in the air, a frozen cloud / from between his unsmiling lips. / And so, when the time comes, you have to turn to him, / the maniac’s sperm still greasing your thighs, / your mind whirling like crazy. You have to confess / to him, you are guilty of the crime / of having been forced. / And you see his blue eyes, the blue eyes of all the family / whom you used to know, grow narrow and glisten, / his hand types out the details / and he wants them all / but the hysteria in your voice pleases him best. / You hardly know him but now he thinks he knows you: / he has taken down your worst moment / on a machine and filed it in a file. / He knows, or thinks he knows, how much you imagined; / he knows, or thinks he knows, what you secretly wanted. / He has access to machinery that could get you put away; / and if, in the sickening light of the precinct, / and if, in the sickening light of the precinct, / your details sound like a portrait of your confessor, / will you swallow, will you deny them, will you lie your way home?