No Reason

Collect your face, collect your crotch,
and it warns them you're up to no good.  
Fight back?  Too many, too tough, too well-thought-of.  
Run?  Concrete everywhere, and they'll feel betrayed.
You tried?  Try again?  
Your proud forgiving nature's just a dark thing moaning
     in the corner.  

They never wink if you guess right:
Why you, why anyone who smells like you.
To chop harder wood than Pa ever could, 
or to curse a wrecked day or a worse old lady, 
or Faith:  If they share their pain with you 
they'll build you a better world.  

You sink to the cell floor sick of subtlety;
your crime, knowing the truth:  
They're not cops.

A. Y. Tanaka