Phillip Barron: “omnimpotence”


In the crook of his elbow, swinging
by buckled chinstrap, the helmet, black
reads POLICIA, white
upside down and swaying. A crack
in the casco curves around the A
as though on another day’s work
he was branded by or as
an anarchist.
Maybe at the Molotov manifestation
between the unfluted tuscan columns
of the university gates
or perhaps he pursues
purse slashers from the backseat
of his partner’s curb hopping motorbike. Together
they corner ladrones, crack heads swinging sticks
and leave the rats prone
on crumbled sidewalk.
Both thieves and students, upset
that rent and tuition
can’t climb down from on high.
He comes toward me, knee high vinyl bootsteps
cracking like tea cups on Plaza Santa Clara’s
fresco sidewalk, a cadence
unconsciously synchronized with
thumbs tap tap texting
across the keys of his slideout keyboard
and smiles an autoerotic smile.