Wham Wham Wham

Wham Wham Wham

In memory of Justin Ronchetti, one more victim

He tried to drive away, twenty-one years
always running from his shadow
but it was holding onto his shoulders
from the inside; he tried to drive

away; it was the cage he was running
from; it was always hard to run when
you’re already in the cage; he tried to drive

away. He didn’t ask the cop to jump
onto his car. But the cop jumped
on his car; he chose to do it. What’s

a junkie to do? He was just trying to run;
that’s what junkies do; but this cop
jumped onto the hood of his car; the blue

gang are always trying to be heroes. But the
junkie tried to drive away; that’s what junkies do.
The cop was holding on for dear life; he didn’t think,
he didn’t think it was going to go down like this,

he thought the junkie was going to stop. Junkies
run; that’s what they do best. So the cop screamed
“Stop, Stop!’ and pulled out his gun and said, “Don’t

make me do it, don’t make me shoot!” like it was
the junkie’s finger on the trigger, but all the junkie
wanted to do was run, so he hit the gas and the cop

freaked out. He pulled the trigger wham wham wham
and glass metal blood; nobody thought it would go down
like this. All the junkie wanted to do was run; he’d been

running all his life, just from the pain of being
alive. He tried to drive away; all he wanted to do was drive
but the cop but the cop jumped on the car thought

he could make him stop but it was scary, too scary
just hanging on to the hood of a car, the hood
of a car that wouldn’t stop moving but it wasn’t

the car moving made him shoot; it wasn’t the junkie
behind the wheel of the car that made him shoot; the
junkie was just trying to get away when the cop screamed,

“Don’t make me shoot!” But the finger, it was the finger of
the hand, the finger of the hand of the cop who was scared
because he didn’t think it would go down like this

that pulled the trigger, pulled the trigger, blew the
junkie’s face all apart splattered blood all over the car, he
was just driving the car, all he wanted to do was run

pulled the trigger, pulled the trigger, pulled the trigger,
what was he thinking when the bullet drove through
the windshield into his mind bringing with it the

shards of glass sharper than the memories that drove
him to run; memories of bits of broken glass; he tried
to drive away; wham wham wham; all his life . . .

**printed originally in Poiesis, A Journal of the Arts & Communication, Volume 8, 2006