by Michelle Seyner15 Oct 2020
My Son came home so late that night,
his footsteps heavy, dull and spent,
his shoulders burdened, his back bent,
and a new shadow in his eyes.
His voice was worn, but calm and soft
- though in his green eyes flashed a storm,
and in his voice a bitter scorn -
when he told me about the cop.
My Son's small gesture wrongly taken
by a cop who then exploded -
reason and common sense forsaken.
The cop was angry, he blew up,
he roared, he screamed, he cursed, he swore,
called my boy names, threatened some more -
but my Son played "Defuse A Cop."
My Son's gaze mixed darkness with light -
but neither of us said out loud
how deep the hole was he climbed out...
I did not sleep at all, that night.
15 October 2020.