i barely remember the faces of the officers.. just the breeze and her warm, wet hands tugging my shirt against a sweaty chest
and the headlights bouncing off the buildings around us while i'm patted down.. before walking the curb and counting backwards from 90 to 69
i was 16.. had never driven through D.C. by myself.. was following my mom returning a rental
i tried to tell them this and how we lost each other in traffic, but an alien tongue, only they can hear, possesses me
"you have any narcotics on you," they ask, "have you been drinking?"
i've never smoked reefer and still hate the taste of beer, my dad will tell you this laughing about the time i picked up his can of coke and choked on the rum he'd mixed in
or how under intense interrogation he found out my brother had been drinking his Hennessey
"step out of the vehicle!"
it was evening.. a kid pointed out the window of his parents' car stalled at a red light
and i was once that child, watching other young brothas handcuffed, sitting on the curb while their trunks and backseats were searched
my mind constructing possible scenarios for how they got themselves into that situation
wondering then, why those guys didn't like the friendly police, who were just doing their jobs