I saw a man shot today.

Eating a granola bar
in an office at work,
I was drawn in because
my boss’s TV was on.
Loud…irritating, so I ventured in.
I stood stone-faced
angry at sensationalistic
“journalism.”

Another police chase.
Another criminal,
high speed.
Another high on speed.

He parked the stolen car
in a Carls, Jr. lot.
Jumped out, tripping in
an amphetamine–maybe just adrenaline–haze.

Desperation…awaiting something. Fearing the end.
Him unsure, but 20 cops in 20 cruisers
have never been more resolute.
He stumbled to the ground
dropping the cold weapon with trigger cocked.
If only…

He stood screaming shouting
then wailing (though I can’t hear him, not really.)
the first bullet strikes
followed by a half dozen, maybe more.

It’s not like the movies:
blood spattering gore-infused glorious excess.
It’s simple quick and surreal.
Short pops of dust, or was that flesh?
Muscles tighten, heart pierced, he falls
like a weighted deflated balloon.
Dead, in a hamburger joint parking lot

A K-9 is loosed biting hard, dragging sopping teeth into flesh.
A mother cries somewhere.
Pain beyond imagining. Did she see her son’s suffering on TV?
A family inside stopped to eat a quick
hamburger or fries or a shake instead forever changed.
If only…

The question is: Why? Was it worth it?
This man could have should have would have…
If only…

The city takes two that day.
One dead. One cold of heart, unpierced uncaring,
as I shrug and finish my granola bar.