There was the arm, the black
pricey number barely on her
white shoulder in broad daylight.
Why first did she have to look
to my face when she screamed
stop? I did nothing
but look up from my gas pump—
yes, held tight like a gun,
before I looked back down again to witness
nothing but my shadow. I saw nothing
but two boys who looked like me
when I was that age and always mistaken
for being older. I mean, I felt nothing,
except that my body was not my body
anymore; stomach shoved aside
to make room for two more; I was an animal
raised to be slaughtered in the name of a
pricey leather number dangling from a shoulder
waiting to be stolen. It all happened so fast—
my shadow bled into their shadows,
for a moment, a second, an eye-blink,
as we fled across the lot. We
were at play together in a race
like brothers. And like brothers,
just like that, the shadows broke apart
and we were separated again. I saw nothing
but their bodies shoved back
into the back of a white van and
I slid back into my white car
as if I might chase them down
to save them or
I don’t know. I did nothing
but brought both hands to my face.
I heard the wheels of the van peel the afternoon
like a mask I thought could never be removed—
a skin. As the police sirens grew larger,
I pulled my hands from my face
and placed them on the steering wheel.