it was all a matter of chance

what if whenever they rolled up
we felt annoyance instead of fear
their sirens calling or not,
dogs and guns or not
as comfortable with dying as
being treated like shit by guys with big thighs
as comfortable with losing movement
as being told you're illegal again
comfortable squatting in a dirty cell
they'd boil into a rage
while we calmly watched around the fire
their faces hot with perspiration
unable again to swallow the hollowness of their words
the impotence of their guns,
the squalor of their cells,
men who think that white walls make a cell clean,
while an air conditioner pumps stale air through the cells
and think that fear and solitary time can
transform annoyance into respect,

but as the fire flickers
heat transforms those hard foreheads
their chests deflate and the thighs are just thick
they're just hungry for respect, scared as anyone
just their gunsdogsrecords are their way of saying they deserve it
they've never gotten it here
and know it so damn it
you should've believed me when i said you could trust me
but thats not why you're an officer
wisdom's never been photographed either
but we all know it doesn't wear stiff pants

impotence tonight faced with a hysterical woman
all they've to offer is white walls and the
reassurance of a man with a gun and a badge
so into a cell she goes
tears echoing through the door