Poetry

flickr photo

By

Alejandro Escudé

Crime

He will pardon himself

and the pardoning will infinitely

continue, the pools that are his eyes

will mix with other pools,

the entire thingee pardoning itself

before and after the act

or acts—we watched it unfold,

an event in past tense; no one

corrected it for actually taking place

in the present. No grammar Gestapo

burst in driving their beetle-black cars

to arrest the event for wrong tense.

It just happens, though we said

it had happened. Do two wrongs

make a right? You’ll have to ask

him. He should know, or should’ve,

depending on your perspective

or your state of residence.

I remember my boss once

shutting the door that lead

into the Christmas office party

in my face, pushing out before

pulling in, nearly breaking my nose,

because I was late; I snuck in

after the choir he’d invited sang

their last carol. A coworker,

who was an unbeliever, let me in

through another door. My boss

never spoke of it. My nose felt the blow

that never was, or is, again depending

on whether you think a company

or a country should be founded

on laws or traditions. My boss loved

the tradition of the Christmas office party

so much, he insisted we be there on time

and I looked everywhere, we looked

everywhere, but there was no crime.

He’d simply closed a door.

It could’ve been coincidence, though

I’d seen his eye rotate like a gecko’s eye

before spotting me

through the crack in the door.

Alejandro Escudé

Alejandro Escudé’s first book of poems, My Earthbound Eye, was published in September 2013. He holds a master’s degree in creative writing from UC Davis and teaches English. Originally from Argentina, Alejandro lives in Los Angeles with his wife and two children.