Poetry / Nathan Kernan

I wrote that letter

I didn’t send

the desk came back

and had to be

reassembled

I turned

halfway around         that’s

all I saw but I didn’t 

say anything    if he wasn’t

a cop I didn’t know what

he was           We found ourselves

on a steep leafy street

you drive too fast

I said he got out

the

shutters were closed it

was six-thirty in the

morning I waited

for him to calm

down

I could ask you
I said