JENNY CHU

Crime Scene

Soon enough, the newspapers
won’t have heads to shake
anymore. The graveyard—
a tanned rainbow of flesh,
glistening under hunks of stone—
smooth metal under moonlight.
Everyone, resting their weight.
Someone traces circles around their
discomfort, holding onto flowers.
Really, you don’t even need to look
for violence in this city. It
hunts you like an old love
who says you were going to
end up together all along.
In front of your apartment,
his palm intimately scarred.
So you take him to the game,
trying to find the bright
between bloody sheets,
reaching for a white towel.
It’s no use. Everything,
including you, is still dirty.