jim beats the rap

it begins when he looks up at the ceiling
of his porch and notices seven cords stretched
tightly from one end to the other. too high to be
clotheslines, why are they there? he thinks, if there
was one more i could tune the porch like a mandolin
and play it.

he’s in shorts, just shorts, and it’s cold out,
rainy, he thinks back to running from the campus cops
dressed like this while the night turned into fireworks.
it was just one tab, he thought, just one, who knew
such things could happen? if this porch was a mandolin
i’d write a song about that.

a cruiser slips down the street below and he turns his face.
who knows what craggy guy, close to retirement, formerly
bright-eyed rookie on the college force, who knows
how long a memory can drive a guy like that? he thinks,
if i were a cop i’d be relentless. i’d give chase to me
all over again.

if i could play the mandolin i’d stay on the porch
and make up songs i would hang from the ceiling
so no one could ever see me among the melodies
and that damn cop would drive on by everytime
like he just did by luck. he tells himself
to go buy another cord tomorrow.