taped and labeled, my proxy
before I landed in Shreveport where a shunned bullet
path stuttered like a roman candle,
and a bag of chips fell from a vending machine
waiting to be rescued.
The footage shows your blood on asphalt,
a handprint on the driver’s side above the window.
They’ve found a warehouse of pain meds.
Go back to Herby K’s to see if the ladies there
can reveal anything about medical coverage.
They pieced together your fragments
with steel plates, screws, and bone grafts.
Elevators stop at secret floors and flash red lights.
The press is in a feeding frenzy.
We need all the onsite intel we can get.