We Own the Night

Pace, pace, pace, pace,
turn.
Pace, pace, pace, pace,
stop.
The cell is exactly four steps by four,
and I'm running out of things to ruminate over.

Marius, beautiful son of the Fire Chief,
mine all mine,
and he is trapped in a cell somewhere,
taking the blame for me.

In a sick way, I am reminded of a movie,
We Own the Night;
Joaquin Phoenix,
fallen son of the police chief,
fallen brother of the favorite police-son,
running the waystation for drugs in that town -
a club.

And, just like our apartment last night,
the club was raided.
Police, pandemonium,
chaos and drugs busts.
In standing up for his club,
Joaquin has charcoal poured down his throat,
and then slammed against the bar in cuffs,
rather like the long line of "criminals" beside him.

It is in that manner-
ruined, blackened face, fucked up and in cuffs-
that Joaquin is marched out of his own club,
and time stops for a moment,
allowing his brother,
neat-clean-cut-officer
to gaze upon what his brother really is.

That scene,
and its sense of contrast in the two lifestyles,
is what I feel is about to happen.

My Marius, son of the Fire Chief,
drug dealer extraordinaire,
will be in jail for it, thankfully.

Because it will be ruined,
with a blackened name,
fucked up and in cuffs,
that I will get to face his parents,
and they will see us both in truth,
though not without utmost contempt.