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Night! 
It’s around nine thirty 
maybe ten. 

The phone rings. 
The voice is irritating, the words frightening.

Within minutes I’m in a car with my mate. 
Within minutes I arrive at my own ground zero. 
Exit the car. 
A body walking says you must be Courtney's Dad.

Yes I am. 
I don’t say those words, 
I don’t say anything.

I enter a strange house. 
My eyes go into a computerized scope mode. 
I assess the scene. 
Devour every image. 
There is talking. 
I can see that I am involved and in conversation. 
I am breathing the moment 
committing all the three dimensional images to memory.

That’s what I do, 
that’s what I always do, 
I pay attention to detail. 
I record it in the recessed region of my brain, 
the file I named celluloid.

This is one of those moments. 
You don’t just live it 
you also live outside of it. 
You adjust angles 
from the ceiling 
from the floor 
from every degree 
from one to three hundred and sixty. 

Your camera guys are working at a furious pace.
We only get one shot at this take 
anything we miss is gone for ever.

I'm looking at the undercover guys, 
three cops. 
There’s the linebacker in the middle 
the young basketball player on your left 
and Meatloaf standing on your right.

They are still talking to me, 
but they are one dimensional 
a cruel reality, 
so you send in your third string rookie quarterback to deal with them.

Meanwhile your sixteen year old is a part of all this. 
She just happened to be here. 
They know she is an innocent bystander, 
well at least they do now.

She is sitting on the end of one couch 
among the devastation created by ... I think they call them the law.

No hurricane could have caused this kind of disarray 
not a lifetime of hurricanes. 
This is what the good guys do 
they tear places apart 
stand with sanctimonious airs.

I think that my third string player is getting a lecture 
something about the friends his daughter keeps 
but I am barely paying attention to him.

I want to crawl in to my daughter’s skin 
absorb all the pain she is feeling. 
I want to hug her mind gentle 
supply her the exhale she so desperately needs right now. 

You don’t choose unconditional love 
it chooses you.
All that matters is how much my daughter is loved 
and can I trade it in for a magic sphere of protection.

For her part she is scared to death 
but I can also feel she is somewhat relieved that this has come to an end. 
Relieved I am here.
Relieved she will be coming home with me.
All this will just be a nasty memory. 
We look at each other.
We both think this 'too has passed.'

I don’t like to judge, 
but boy it sure seems 
like the bad is on the flip side of this vinyl forty-five.

That’s the law as it turns out. 
They can bust through your door with a battering ram. 
Ransack your home. 
Step on your soul. 
Hand out unwanted lectures 
leave with a pat on the back.

You want to scream you want to yell foul. 

To what avail?

Serve and protect 
for what, from what? 

They found two lousy marijuana plants, 
that’s right two lousy plants. 
They can get a search warrant 
destroy everything 
might get in the way of their large swollen heads 
and 
destroy lives, 
destroy people.

They can destroy, destroy, destroy and destroy, 
never serve, 
absolutely never serve 
and less than protect 
a lot less. 
In fact 
they can put a young sixteen year old girl in danger 
walk out laughing. 
They will even be commended for their acts against humanity.

Remember those laws. 
The right to be someone 
to not be looked down upon by the hired help. 

I guess in the end that is our only bonus in all of this, 
they are after all only the hired help. 
So let them worship their false Gods in their agnostic ways.

From my perspective they have acted like demons this evening. 
Only one angel walks out of this man made mess.

Thank God she’s my daughter.

Feb 26 2016
armand
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