July 2004 / Volume Five / Issue Three / Online
C. Allen Rearick
Itís a Feeling Sort of Like This

You wake up
and youíre helpless

car lock peeled
like a coffin
pried open by
some random graverobber
under the hazy watch
of midnightís lazy eye

cd player ripped
out of socket

stolen with
a lifeís savings
worth of compact discs

cops arrive
tell you what you already know

yeah...

theyíll keep
an eye out

violation is a horrible feeling

every person is
a suspect

the old guy with
the queer limp
who walks his dog
every night

maybe the girl
burnt out on
crack-cocaine
attempting to raise
her 3-year old daughter
with no support
but that of
welfare

and of course
there are the
metal boxes
edging up
and down
the street
booming their
thunderous stereo systems
which cost more
than the car
itself

whatís a person
to do

wait for the insurance
company to make
its move

call mom
for a comforting hug

take this
loaded helplessness
and put a
bullet in
the head
of every last
mother fucking
suspect

watch their
bodies paint
the streets
a fine chalk-
outline white

something has got
to give

because

insurance companies
take too long
momís 3000 miles away

and

this anger
is itching
a trigger
that has no

safety.