Luke Kuzmish

Docket Sheets

sometimes when the curtains
still shield my eyes from the sun
and the things living here
aren’t stirring
I pull open
my laptop
to look up the docket sheets
of the people
(I guess) I once knew

see if Twan
got off
or caught a murder charge
for that dead kid from Warren,
the one
whose parents
surrendered his cell phone
and the DEA
did what they could
with us,
a bunch of strung out junkies
killing time
in Andy’s mom’s attic

see if Tony
stayed out of trouble
since his first DUI
or if
his temper got away from him
like it had before

see if my exes
committed crimes
no matter how minor
no matter how expungable
so I could
feel vindicated
for the pain I put them through
and then
later in the day
–maybe about lunchtime
maybe before–
feel guilty
for that ill will,
for thinking about
some shit
I can’t change

see if
there are any new charges
under my own name
if the old fever dream
of my addiction
is ever made manifest
in black and white,
in bench warrants,
in dollars and cents
owed

I’ll look up a few more
–guys from rehab
people from high school
names I fail to remembers–
and shut the lid

I’ll let my family
wake up
and never mention
how I spent the
early
hours
while I write a poem
to describe a feeling
that
evades
words

 

 

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