poem
Volume 29, Number 3

ice

to them it must seem like
donning a second skin
bullet proof
bomb proof
heavy with authority
impervious to the ocean
of bare skin behind wire cages
inured to haunted eyes
having escaped one suffering
only to find themselves
trapped in another
a revolving door
ready to eject them
back to the bloody hunt
but those officers
must put away their inborn guilt
scrape it free
from their own skin
hang it upon a legal hook
step back
and do it all over again


—James P. Roberts