detained
fists as privilege, fight or flight the instinct
you hardly heard the clicking, insisting
you don’t have to
do this but
click! your arm twisted—you give up
a purse, twenty-eight dollars
your shoes, suicidal, stab spindled
you pee in a cup
a little on your pants
slough to the cell in thin
sponge slippers, toes with smiley faces
someone is banging on glass, someone is waving
things will happen
you have no control over
—Kathleen Hellen