All of the elements of a love affair:
costumes,
passion,
interest,
adrenaline.

Or, at least
the elements
of a good fuck.

Props:
pepper spray
night sticks
henchmen for the State
the people

My friends behind me chanting,
“Please arrest us, please don’t poison us.”
Undoing all of their organic
food diet of years.

Nic draws a chalk line between us
and the black-clad chorus line,
“Line of love.”

They charge forward,
pepper spray everywhere,
similar to the poison of sperm
when it is unwanted.

Shake, shake shaking
their canisters
Auhh, ohhhh
They got him good
smashing into him
from both sides
with their newly honed
night sticks,
forged with us in mind.
His red stocking cap
clinging tightly to his head
in spite of the violent jostling.
They trap him in a corner
between the P.I. newsstand
and the corporate wall.

Thinking of us?
Could have been sweet.

Going for a dance instead
go, go, go, zoot suit riot
shake, shake, shake
swing it on around.

Love that line of love alive.
Dance, dance, dance
nose-ringed youth.
Throw off those costumes
trade props.

Zoot suit riots,
Purple, orange, turquoise.
Pink, pink, pink
balloons floating out
of that pellet gun.

Hold hands tight,
laughing, laughing, laughing,
night stick jabs in my back.
Surprised.
We love you too. Fuck you!

Chanting, chanting, chanting,
no more violence,
no more violence,
peaceful protestors,
chorus line riots,
colors fade,
too much poison.

Hold them back,
hold them back,
hold them back.
Now relaxed, now rigid,
jump, jump,
jump down,
lock arms,
lock legs,
breathe.

Snake dancing through the streets.
There they are, there they are, there they are.
Twirl, soak the handkerchief in vinegar.
Zoot suit rioters shove their masks on,
hide their names,
more spray.
Ashamed for them.

Bondage.
Twist my arm
Around and up tight
against my shoulder blade.
Nameless zoot suit,
merciless smirker.

Handcuffs on tight,
stumbling across a field.
“What’s your name?”
Ahhhh, cried out
as the minutes ticked.

The world shrank
to this pain.
Not much dance in it.

Should’ve fought back more,
but the law slows you down.
How many years
for assaulting an officer?

Lined up in chains,
leg irons link to wrist ones.
We waddle when we walk.
Need music, need music, need music.
Zoot suit rioters gone deaf.

Ashamed that we could see them,
take away our glasses.
I throw mine hard
into a jail cell corner.
Yeah, yeah, yeah,
fuck you few, bastard cops.

Step it up, step it up, step it up
all the pretty women.
Smirk, smirk, smirk.
I repeat to every question:
“I have the right to remain silent.”

They take Betti away,
strip her in front of a male guard,
in a solitary confinement cell.

They take me away.
Arm back up against my shoulder blade,
up, up, up
face splat against the cement wall,
Hair twist thing,
twist, twist, twist
tightening the hold,
twisting my hair against my scalp.

Mind wanders, not here to witness
their shame. Clipping the matted hair off dogs
so it wouldn’t hurt.
Bound to their skin too tight.
A man with vacant eyes twisted the hair off my head
leaving a bald place.
Surprised that hair comes out that way.
Called the cops, my big mistake.
They asked me: “What did I do to make him mad?”