Poem 2b

The Loudest Silence in Michigan

Little Jimmy, he saw that game he wanted
Gleaming through the plexi-glass
Of that pretentious store window.
The Melrose Place of X Box 360—
Who charges triple digits for a fucking plastic cartridge?

Little Jimmy, his body craved that game.
He thirsted for that rush only available
Via live adrenaline.
A rush must had
So he rode his shiny two wheeler home,
Tires gritting against ripped pavement:
Step on a crack, break your mother’s back.

Little Jimmy, as the clock struck five
And fathers sprouted facial shadows
And rush hour traffic clogged the pipes of Metro-Detroit
(Perpetually under construction),
He crept up that flight of steps,
Rode that foot-powered elevator up
And took a Michigan left at level two.

As his shabby tatty sketcher
Stepped foot onto that gainsboro carpet,
Little Jimmy knew
that he was in dangerous territory now.
This was the master bedroom
And mommy’s purse,
red patent gleaming in the closet.
Little Jimmy played the role of Sherlock,
Accomplice Watson Wallet just begging to be fondled.

Little Jimmy, in went his clumsy hand,
Stubby fingers tampering with a self-induced crime scene,
Molesting George Washington,
Abraham Lincoln,
John Adams.
When in walked Mom, so trim and work-appropriate,
Her disbelief perfectly framed by salon curls,
Her porcelain face as speechless as a china doll.

Little Jimmy, face ashen wish shame
As he and Mom and experienced
The loudest silence in Michigan.
Little Jimmy, he finally got his rush.