The Cop

  Touch of Evil .... Orson Welles creates one of noir's unforgettable villians, Hank Quinlan, a corrupt cop working the American side of the Tijuana border.
Larry Levis    
         for Philip Levine

The cop holds me up like a fish;
he feels the huge bones
surrounding my eyes,
and he runs a thumb under them,

lifting my eyelids
as if they were
envelopes filled with the night.
Now he turns

my head back and forth, gently,
until I'm so tame and still
I could be a tiny, plastic
skull left on the

dashboard of a junked car.
By now he's so sure of me
he chews gum,
and drops his flashlight to his side;

he could be cleaning a trout
     while the pines rise into the darkness,
       though tonight trout


under the ice. When he lets me go
             I feel numb. I feel like
             a fish burned by his touch, and turn
             and slip into the cold

             night rippling with neons,
             and the razor blades
             of the poor,
                        and the torn mouths on posters.

    Once, I thought even through this
    I could go quietly as a star turning over and over
    in the deep truce of its light.

         Now, I must
       go on repeating the last, filthy
words on the lips
      of this shunken head

shining out of its death in the moon—
  until trout surface
     with their petrified, round eyes,
  and the stars begin moving.




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