this poem

I.

this poem was caught
outside your window
with his pants down.
after his needs were met
he was quite content to watch
despite his shame.
he knew that you sang,
for instance, "julia,"
while thinking of raul julia.
that still baffles the poem,
but he's careful not to judge.
as they haul him away with all
the lights on and the reporters flash
cameras going off, he pleads nothing
but collects his pants
and his pride, justifying his
actions as servants of his art. would it
serve you to press charges? does he
belong with the hardcore among the
recidivists? what would be his penance
to justify a sentence? how would he explain
to the rapist gang that he wasn't after anything
but a particular type of closeness encased
in a cadence?

II.

the poem became

a letter

to be read to all family members

admitting shame and guilt

and a characteristically generosity

toward those that, given the circumstances,

he would understand if they chose never

to visit.

III.

the poem became

graffitti above the sink

in his cell. his "cellie" called

it "perfunctory," whatever that

meant. his cellmate was no stranger

to the written word offering, in its

way, an avenue for understanding

and compassion. he claimed to have

been a preacher "in the free world." the

poem had no reason to disbelieve, and with a

swollen "S" he wrote his cellie's name

emboldened by scratch-marks and the rubber-soul

type that has become so popular amongst de-facers

of all stripes. when the officers found out

about the graffitti, they "wrote up" the poem,

giving him his first official "case," which

he discovered, could cause him grief down the line.

IV.

the poem has

now gone through a Christian walk

of faith and is proclaiming all his words

to be for the LORD. from now on everything

will be a psalm, a hymn, or a contemporary song,

extolling the virtues of mercy and grace.

V.

the poem now thinks twice about

what it means to observe

and to be observed. he admits

no passivity and that, though forgiven

for what he represented at the window,

he must continually petition for the understanding

and forgiveness of the "victim." he relates to the

victim for the first time, placing himself in her shoes,

and though ill-fitting, continues on his pilgrimage/his walk.

VI.

the poem is a letter, to an attorney

a letter to a felon's ministry

a letter to a sponsoring church

a letter to his brethren back home -

all poems not meaning any harm,

but still harming despite their admitted

impartiality. a letter to his editor

to his agent, to his parole-board.

VII.

the poem is tired

of rejection

of perceived heresy

of the pretense of

brotherhood. he vows

an overthrow of something. he's

done all the right things and walked

the straight and narrow path

but nobody seems to see

the righteousness. it's all for naught.

this is a conspiracy he thinks. he's ready

to throw in the proverbial towell and live

for today. he constructs a shiv and vows

vengeance and develops a construct for

a personal crusade. his cross is his sword

and vice-versa. he wants to be heard:

GODDAMN you fucking unchurched.

I AM is what He is called and i feel the same.

VIII.

the poem sees the errors in his logic. he wants

forgiveness (again) but knows he's already forgiven.

he's sorry for offending the Son for asking again for

the gift he's already received.

IX.

it's time

it's nearly time

i've paid what debt i owe

he thinks. he becomes a

petition

resting on the heart

of the descenting vote

and he becomes heavy

then heavier as the

time nears for the parole board

to convene. they hear his case

and it comes down to this one

vote to determine

the fate of the poem. has this been

written in the posterity

of the Lord's will. can he be released -

to be read again and understood

can he unite with some music

to make the words more pallatable?

can he, once again, become the sweat

and toil and troubles of all mankind. can

he hope to one day lurk under a window

again to see and understand the inner workings

of a woman? has it been too long since he's seen

her crying and wishing for understanding

and passion. can he be her link to the romance

of which she dreams? can he be her rescue. can

he unite his uniqueness with hers? can he read her

heart like a medical chart and render her human?

can he, through her, write for all men and women

in the world and know that they are all alike:

scared and unsure, wanting only to be heard

and understood? can he?

X.

would he develop an aversion

to all sensitive things and learn to adapt himself
to the pulpier of the fictions that make the rounds
in the jail-talk around the tv in the day-room? would
he become friends with fight club, and anything
by elmore leonard? would
he get one of those tattoos that line the arms, neck, and hands?
would he renounce all that had come before, kneeling in
supplication and curse the filth in which he finds himself.
would images of you sustain him as
one of those correction officers gets caught
with his pants down outside the cell?
as they drag him away, the poem
is heard to whisper, "i understand."

(c) jim hill 3-19-2010