and stare perplexedly into the middle distance
with one crease, one particularly characterful
furrow knitting my brow, not an old lady furrow
oh no something about the way I hold this furrow
in this ongoingly perplexed stare will imply a whole
panoply of barely suppressed emotions, a gamut
even, simmering away under the surface of this
singular furrow topped off with an immensely
enigmatic rage that also, paradoxically, resembles
serenity and I will do banter in my cop car with my
sidekick oh definitely I want a sidekick with whom
I will stop. Unwontedly. Here. And also sometimes —
there. And I will chew my lip. And he will hold his
breath. Bamboozled by my odd. Choice. Of hiatus.
And no one will move until I speak again.
