the el chapo of dorsey’s
knob
on down dorsey’s knob
past green bag road
gps chatters, radio chatters
my lover and I think with
our stomachs
i pop to the right lane sans
signal
yes, my friends, a faux
pas
the rearview reminds me of
this
as red and blue splish
splash
cop asks my story, my id
shuffles to alchemy
another cop appears
aviators at night
flashlight taps passenger
window
my lover needs her id
first cop returns
invites us out of our
vehicle
he wants to dance
the flood lights of sheetz
perfect romantic tonight
now another cop
where do they come from?
four cars lights splish
spalsh
all for a dangerous couple
of middle age hippies
with no criminal record
now a dog, a wise beast
leashed circles of my car
dog and first officer
consult
I’ve never heard a dog
speak english
first cop hears the dog
whisper english
I, at the edge of my seat
for this message
this wise articulate dog
says
I have heroin, meth or
marijuana in my car
now two of those are drugs
one is legal here and my
state, medically
dog is wise, dog is
correct
there’s three joints tucked
tight
snug in a tin in my
luggage
my lover and I hear our
rights, no charge
I admit I am a criminal, a
ne’er do well, a scofflaw
I admit it here and for
all this sheetz parking lot to know
I am a criminal, a
dangerous man
I have less than a gram of
weed
fourth cop and fifth appear
I am a criminal mastermind
on vacation
we have the ministry of
attention
every on-duty officer in morgantown,
I am all the crimes
happening
I am the crime of the
century
I offer to retrieve these
pesky drugs
but no, they will handle
this service
they are happy to root in all
our things
to make sure I, criminal
that I am
am not hiding some more
nefarious secret
my lover and I, criminals
ushered to a seat on the
hood
the luxury of one of five
cop cars
it is the sting of the
summer, I am the el chapo
of dorsey’s knob. we’re
baby sat by sixth
cop who wants our story,
or statement
our admission, he wants to
crack us
open to get us to admit
that we are part
of some goddamn high crime,
something more
than daring to vacation with
one lonely gram of weed
I’m not good at feeling
like a criminal
I love stories and if
these seven officers
wise dog and five cop cars
want a story
I’ll deliver the goods, I’ll
tell them
all about every backroad,
every dying coal town
I’ll them about hank williams
last ride
I’ll them about history,
how this lady
and are I are gonna bask
in the tennessee sun
with mandolin’s, fiddles
and the ghost
of ralph peer, i’ll tell
them about the fabulous
jumping frog of summers
county
and how when you sleep in
a bounce house
you can hear the bluestone
river talk in its sleep
sixth officer is
unimpressed, underwhelmed
he has no real interest in
our stories
he wants the tales of el
chapo
or maybe he wants to go
home
strip naked, wrap himself
in a confederate flag
watch porn videos of his
choice in a lawn chair in his kitchen
the posse are digging in
every corner
every nook of the car,
nothing unturned
still even with the advice
of the wise dog
and my admission they can’t
find
my offensive three joints
my offensive gram of weed
they need my help
i’m not allowed to get up
from the cruiser seat
i’m arrested, I’m stone still,
my co-operation is must
look sir WEED!
egads and golly gee
right were I left it
hiding
in a former altoids tin
snug next to my boxers
now frisked in case we’re
hiding something
even though we haven’t
hidden anything
we are very guilty, we are
criminals
my lover’s herbal supplies
must be accounted for
you never know when some
strange tincture
some nameless powder could
be dangerous
I am a criminal mastermind
the el chapo of dorsey’s
knob
with a gram of weed
confiscated
I have two tickets with
the wrong address to prove it
I’ll be five hundred light
for my shame
we’re free to go, paroled
of our own recognizance
back in the car, ready to
drive away
they found my weed, they
didn’t find
my less carefully
concealed edibles
my lover, fearless, unflappable
beautiful in the termination
of red and blue splish
splash
looks at me and says
all I could think was that
we
won’t be able to smoke
a joint
tomorrow as we listen
to the blue stone river
talk in its sleep
--Jason Baldinger
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