A cop almost fell off
his motorcycle.
He was
amid the colorful floral skeletal
commemorations of life,
entertaining the children
waiting for the procession to come down
Bonita
He swerved his vehicle,
almost tipped over.
everywhere clowns,
evil horse energy
in the pits of their eyes, dark stele in the alcoves
of their hearts,
children, souls
in a vault
oversaturating the memorial
antisepsis.
If he had fallen
would the children have gotten up?
Who would have been the first
to help?
the police
the perverts of death.
Copyright © 2020 by Brandon Shimoda. Originally published in Poem-a-Day on June 3, 2020 by the Academy of American Poets.