it was a game
like none I’d ever played
the prize...my future

the interrogation room...
sinisterly clinical
like something out of a cold war movie
just a table, chairs...
two RCMP detectives
sitting across from me

no lie detector...instruments of torture
only my face…
and their questions
on whether the past was still my present
despite twelve years without subsequent arrest

warned me they already had the answers
if I lied...would automatically disqualify me
but how much did they really know?

I told them it wasn’t
then threw them a bone
I still smoked...at the occasional party
no chemicals...
dealing...

they were on me like a pair of Dobermans
questions intensifying
building to crescendo
full-time job...joint custody of a son
my only saving graces

and then it was over
told me they’d be in touch
my impression...they believed

but what were those pages
sticking out from under my application?
resembling...

wiretap conversations

© 1989

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12/30/2017

Author's Note: I got the pardon, and not long after, the above poem to go with it.

Posted on 12/30/2017
Copyright © 2024 Chris Sorrenti