Leg shackles and flip-flops.
Hard drive. Search and seizure.
Federal grand jury.
I wouldn’t have believed it
if you hadn’t admitted it.
What kind of solace could it have been?
What kind of solace can be had now?
Will you survive by disassociating,
from your pile:
Go on and narrate
as you shuffle by the howling rabble.
Go on and tell yourself,
as the cell door clangs,
this is someone else’s story.