An Uncomfortable Search

Oct. 17, 2012

An Uncomfortable Search

Search me,
     officer.
That's what he said,
     with regular fiery looks in his eyes,
his bag on the ground,
     his hands at his thighs
          in tight fists.

We're on the side road,
     by a K-Mart,
a couple of miles from home.
We were all business,
     a regular routine stop,
          a warning kind of occassion,
so I thought,
yet we've been stopped for a search,
     irregular,
          uncomfortable.

Officer Jackson,
     leaning through the window,
Why are you uncomfortable,
     he asks.
 I'd like a cigarette,
     says my passenger.

Door opens.
     DON'T DO THAT!
Get back in the car!
Why are you uncomfortable?
He says,
     I have anxiety.
          Search me, officer.

He takes me aside,
     Officer Thomson,
Is he hiding something?
     You're liable,
          and why,
          is he uncomfortable?

Passenger door,
     Do I need to search your bag?
Here it is,
     he says,
          lets it fall to the ground.
Search me,
     officer.

Comes back to me,
     Officer Monroe,
So,
     Why is he uncomfortable?
Sir,
     He' just uncomfortable.

And that was that,
     we drove away,
myself disturbed,
     my passenger
          uncomfortable.