The Reach
Running from
the cops
I get away
with nothing
too high
I fall twice.
Jeans torn
bloody at
the knees
that hurt
for weeks
for smoking
weed in the park
and holding half
a hard-earned
minimum wage
C note of
coke in
my back pocket
I’d just scored.
Which was sure
to make Olivia
spread her legs further
or so she’d promised.
I couldn’t/wouldn’t
throw that chance away.
Running blind instead
fell, fucked my knees
bad on concrete
stairs that
for years
on rainy days
I could still feel.
A whistle in the bones
yet a half smile
at Olivia letting me
have her near
the baseball field
and still moaned
pretty when I couldn’t
find her clit
after beer and lines
days later.
I can taste
the sweat now
as I ran
fear and adrenaline
and equal parts of lust
limping me past
reach of police lights
and the law.
©2023 Rp Verlaine All rights reserved.
Rp Verlaine lives and writes in New York City. He has an MFA in creative writing from City College and taught English in New York public schools until he retired. He has several collections of poetry including Damaged by Dames & Drinking (2017), Femme Fatales Movie Starlets & Rockers (2018), and Lies From The Autobiography 1-3 (2018-2020).