Jason,
since your gloved gesture stopped me
near this curb covered in lichens
I stare at you straight in the eye
a dead sea
where the paragraphs of law swim
as a bank of tuna
you’re so tall, Jason
that I’m wondering how come your epaulets
are not covered in snow.
you want to know who am I, where am I coming from, where am I going
who was I talking to
oh, Jason, let’s run away to Switzerland
on the way I shall tell you
how Father Christmas has flown over Africa
without being stopped by any children
you want my truth, Jason
and you bring it out of me like the Americans
the oil of Kuwait
your voice is hiding my hands behind my back
and I wonder where do you keep your handcuffs at night
the sun is gazing through your badge like a spotlight
in a room with no windows
bypassing us is the traffic rolling
like a conveyor belt in a biscuit factory
and through this brrm stop brrm stop brrm
stop
only I know, Jason,
how beautiful mornings are
without your visor bent 45 degrees
over this windshield



..dedicated to officer Jason K. from the Metropolitan Police, London