POEM: Interrogation

Interrogation

The other day at my job —
wearing my corporate uniform,
the one with the logo on the left breast —
I helped, in a small but real way,
to send two boxes of syringes to
Guantanamo.
I felt sick to my stomach.
What would they be used for?
I imagined a hard-eyed CIA officer
injecting a syrupy liquid into the arm
of a gaunt man in an orange jumpsuit.
I saw the man’s Raggedy Andy head
loll back like his bones had turned
to jelly. The officer leaned in close
to ask those questions, those same
unanswerable questions,
for the thousandth time.
Sabotage was the first word
that came to mind, standing there
in my corporate uniform,
the one with the logo on the left breast.
Could I misdirect the boxes?
Throw them out? Lose them?
But the cameras are always watching
& my number is attached to everything
like a fingerprint. Plus I need the money.
So like a good company man
I sent the syringes to the island prison,
there to be used to protect my freedom
to keep working, to keep wearing my
corporate uniform, the one with the logo
on the left breast.

///

Jason Crane
4 October 2019
State College PA

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