Cop Shoot Cop

We’re carrying finger foods & pyrite 
ambling through the shakedown 
when you pretended not to see
what I saw, lamb hung by its hooves 
thighs falling from split belly-skin

There’s a false door behind me 
leading to when I sold sea shells 
& painted rocks door to door 
I’m walking through it
but never fully and always forever

It’s so du jour, this shade of cardboard box 
seeing you snitch on yourself
the sound of your voice
through that pinwheel at your lips

Once I let my dog be a dog 
in her catshit heaven
She ran into the road

They say all of us have them now 
the worms that make us love them

I cried about money today
a loaf of bread under my arm 
chin dripping in Cuban links