In a windowless room with a single light,
a bolted table, and a metal chair
sits a suspect with an interrogator’s
face pressed close.
Each glares into
the other’s eyes,
“Tell me the truth!” the sergeant shouts,
beads of sweat drop down his nose.
His stare is met with steely blues,
nary a blink to give him clues,
no hint to elicit the next question,
no segue to the next transition,
so the cop threatens physical force
walks behind the suspect
leans close to his ear,
“We have witnesses
who place you at the scene,
you have motive,
we have evidence,
now tell me the truth,
before I get mean.”
The suspect holds his breath,
his face turns red
and then dark blue
he passes out
and the interview
is through.
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