Iris

…and the cop directing traffic in the hailstorm
is the cop who threw you in the back of his car
because your photo didn’t match your face,
you’d had a beard back then, and dreams,
is the cop who taught you traffic safety
in the 80s, they named a park after him,
actually just the northeast quadrant but
it’s a big park, and putin punking nato
is gord at the end of the lane taking your
bike out for a spin, he said he’d be right
back but you waited until nightfall and
he never returned. his dad called your
dad. treaties were signed. mustard gas
briefly blinded hitler in the trenches;
clouds of killer nanotech mowed
down syrian school kids during the
rose bowl. you always were a slow
learner. emperor titus, crucifying 7000
rebels just to burnish his resume, is
the cop who chased you just because
of a skateboard and a dead kennedys
t-shirt. it all runs together when there’s
blood in your eye, flooding the iris, and
martin changed his number years ago.

Darrell Epp is the author of 3 poetry collections: Imaginary Maps, After Hours, and Sinners Dance. His next book, Mechanical Monkeys, will be published by Mosaic Press in 2020. He lives in Hamilton, Ontario.

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