Anyone can become a police.
—Martin Amis
Even here, even tonight,
in this just-used borrowed bedroom,
either of us could be a policeman
kicking down the closed doors of alibis,
of our lies. Each of us
could investigate the case
back to its origin: the modus operandi,
motive and opportunity
for earlier love.
Do we not know the score?
Criminals return to the scene
if only in their minds.
We let them talk
and flip them in their lies.
We break them and fold them.
Either of us could play good cop,
coffee-giver, profferer of lights;
either could be the bad lieutenant,
hard terrier of truth,
close-whispered questioner,
and anyone could be the suspect
handcuffed face-down in this bed,
begging for just one second, pleading now
for the chance to deal names like cards.