The Beating

"So, do you remember anything at all?
Like I said, there was a group of kids
in the area that same night raisin' hell
and I'm pretty sure it was them." The
detective was growing increasingly
frustrated, driving me around the
neighborhood, hoping my memory
would be jogged or I'd finally agree
to point the finger, whichever came first.
I still had stitches in my head from
that night. I knew it was the kids
he was talking about, driving around
in a van, running up behind people
and beating them within an inch of life.
He knew that I knew it was them. But they
got me from behind, I was thinking;
I didn't see anyone's face, so it's just
not fair, not fair play. I was high as
a kite, drunk and stoned on whatever,
and I felt as though I brought it on
myself, you know, making myself
such an easy target, stumbling around
in the 'hood without a care in the
world. Serves me right, I thought.
All I could really think of was that
the last time I had any run-ins with
the police, some cop went ballistic
on me in Central Park; no apparent
cause, just the stress of the job I guess.
Started calling me a long-hair fuck,
insisting that he heard me mouthing off
about him. I must have said and done
the right things because he quickly
backed off. But I knew I'd been an
inch away from a world of hurt.
And, here I just wanted this detective
to back off, let me go home and
smoke some pot before my shift at work.
He kept trying to egg me on,
started explaining about the other folks
who were in the hospital because of
these guys. To this day, many years
later, I still don't know exactly what
he expected of me. That I would finally
break down in tears saying, "All right.
It was a bunch of black kids in a blue
van. You're right. And I'm sure I could
pick them out from a line up"?
I guess that's probably about what he
was looking for, whether or not it
was true, whether or not I'd really
seen any faces. All these years later
I can't help but wonder how it is
that justice sometimes can be so ugly
as to ask us to betray ourselves.
Thank the cosmos we can always
say No.

(2007)