The Trail of a Crime Goes Cold in 72 Hours
June 12 2004


The trail of a crime goes cold in 72 hours.
The small deceptions you thought would not be noticed.
The lies of omission you kept to yourself
because no one knew to ask.
And the scorned lovers and abandoned friends
who have uncertain memories for faces
and quickly forget.
And even total strangers who briefly intersected your path,
but were lost in thought or too distracted
to register
your passing.

There is no clean escape.
Warm traces of skin and sweat everywhere you went,
and the hot rapid breath
of descent
moving fast down the well-worn path of least resistance.
And in the end
you stumble hard,
a scraped knee or some other body part left as material evidence;
because there is no such thing as self-sufficiency
or quarantine,
and even the innocent cannot help but contaminate the scene.

Crimes of lust and greed and necessity
and small incremental conspiracies
and other incidental conceits.
Crimes of aggrieved entitlement
and unintentional crimes of neglect;
crimes of momentary weakness
and the unforgivable crime when you left.

More than three days have passed in hot pursuit,
but it’s the one thing you cannot forget
that inevitably incriminates you.