"I think I know why you're here. The screams and the gunshots. The screams, the gunshots, the outrage on the radio and the fiasco in the sky. Well, I know all anyone needs to know about it. And I have it on good authority going back before the Bible that if you don't bother it, it won't bother you.
"Behind me? There's nothing behind me. There are bodies, I suppose. Maybe they're dead and maybe they're not dead yet. Maybe they're human and maybe they're not human anymore. But it's fairly late in the game, no matter which game you go by.
"And why do you want to look? No, really, before you ruin the moment, ask yourself why? Why did you come to this maybe-crime scene? Look back more than a week, a month, a lifetime, for the real, exact reason. You can't find it, can you? That's okay, neither can I. It's okay. The records have all been burned and sunk to the bottom of the ocean. The who what when where how and why are essentially lost to the likes of us. And our supposed reasons are makeshift-just gibberish, really.
"So where does that leave us? Just give me a second here. Look at me. Where does that leave us? It leaves us here, alone, together, tonight. The moon's broken free and reflects off your badge in a way that makes me think something greater than a nine-one-one call brought you here.
"There's something familiar about you. Something that makes sense. No, it does more than just make sense. It makes sense of all the jagged-angled and fathomless nooks and crannies of my life up to this moment. And I think you feel it too.
"I know you think I'm lying, and there are a host of bloody sins just behind me crying out for an undertaker and a competent prosecutor. That's just common sense. But what is common sense?
"No. It's common. And I can tell just from looking at you, you're anything but common. You're noble, perhaps divine.
"And thanks to you, now I can see that I am too. I always thought I was special, but never knew just how. A better, special self always hung like a clean white shirt on a wire hanger from a window frame, the sun illuminating its folds and the breeze dancing it gently to and fro. But it was always just out of reach. And I didn't even dare to reach, because my hands were dirty.
"But with you, I feel like my hands could be clean, like I could reach for that shirt and wear it. I could be that better person.
"You could too. I can feel it. We've found the luck we never even had the guts to ask for. And all the things we ever wanted or wanted to be are within our grasp. So don't look over my shoulder, but into my eyes. Let's leave this damp and shadowy abattoir. Come with me, to a motel room.
"Sleep with me."
Colin Dodds is the author of Another Broken Wizard, WINDFALL and The Last Bad Job, which Norman Mailer touted as showing “something that very few writers have; a species of inner talent that owes very little to other people.” His writing has appeared in more than two hundred publications, and been nominated for the Pushcart Prize. Poet and songwriter David Berman (Silver Jews, Actual Air) said of Dodds’ work: “These are very good poems. For moments I could even feel the old feelings when I read them.” Colin’s book-length poem That Happy Captive was a finalist in the 2015 Trio House Press Louise Bogan Award as well as the 42 Miles Press Poetry Award. And his screenplay, Refreshment, was named a semi-finalist in the 2010 American Zoetrope Contest. Colin lives in Brooklyn, New York, with his wife Samantha. See more of his work at thecolindodds.com.