Inversion of the Prodigal Son

Dobermen snarl in inner
ear, snatch up fleeing
soundbites sounding some sort
of reprieve,
it’s okay,
you’re okay, but
it persists like downed power lines
sizzling in a bed of blackening rain pools,
don’t touch,
never touch
me,
back of a grocery shelf
sitting in silence, no,
aisle twelve has what you’re looking for
—————————————————
I didn’t put that there, did you see him?
Sometimes he hangs out in the strip joint
at North and Bloomingdale, watches
women grind the pole into nothing,
silver dust glistening in neon hues,
he said he was coming
but I didn’t believe him,
always here, never
left, he’s just outside the periphery
calling signals for a game I didn’t sign up for,
sign post says three miles
but I’m less inclined to believe it,
don’t know if I’ll make it with that racket,
same dogs waiting in the wings,
turn it off,
turn it off, turn
down the last street that you see,
just here, right
here, I told him I didn’t want to
but he insisted, can’t tell
if it’s my hand or his guiding scalpel
over surgical incision, spills
fire ants down the sides of the sink,
I can hear them marching in by twos, see
them scuttle while he smirks in tune,
did you see that, that little wink?
Maybe I missed a dose, not sure
about whether I blew through that stop sign,
not sure if it was him or me that flattened
the boy on the bike, leg twitching
from splinter-bone sinew splayed
out in three dimensions,
not sure,
not sure,
take a left here,
that’s right,
don’t let them know which way
you’ll go when they’ve been following you
for the last ten blocks, try and lose
them around this corner, no,
I don’t want to do that
but he’s insisting, insistent,
throw the car in reverse and smash
the shit out of papier-mâché plywood,
guess the whole thing’s a ruse
when I’m on the run,
guess the whole thing’s a joke
when he’s riding shotgun,
finger on the trigger,
do you see him?

Can you see him?

Would you pull it yet?