After a weird highway chase, dropping off a crimey of mine, and jetting out of the city to lose my vehicle; me and my other then-associate make our way back to St. Paul. We hurry to our hide out and grab the last of the evidence tying us to the last of our bank robberies… a dang sawn-off rifle barrel that should have been tossed out long before but that stayed in the house because some fool from amongst us wanted to make a bong out of it! Getting back into the neighborhood all was hella suspiciously quiet… too quiet. I went in the house and found the barrel and then went back outside to the ride with the guy I was rolling with. “Where do we toss this thing?” I ask. “W 7th st. bridge man, let’s go!” Why I didn’t just chuck that thing in he bushes there I’ll never know. As we moved toward W 7th we saw someone was trailing us… “Fk!… wth!”… with no time lost we sped up trying to shake them in traffic. Boom! Out of nowhere marked and unmarked squad cars and SUV’s with lights flashing all around us, in every damned direction with sirens blaring! “ Get the fk out and get rid of that thing!” I was told. I jumped out of the vehicle while it wasn’t even stopped and scrambled around like a chicken in the farm yard with no head! Running at top speed with a gun barrel in my hand with absolutely no sense of a plan at all. I heard officers screaming commands and drawing weapons on me all over the place, but terror, momentum, and pure adrenaline kept my feet pounding the city pavement looking for a way out! Finally backed into a corner, and alone out of pure desperation I threw the barrel as hard as I could!… ding ding ding! It hit the ground not far away, slid a ways, and pathetically came to a halt right at the feet of my pursuers. “ fk!”…. they rushed in, took me down, and instead of handcuffing me threw plastic zip ties around my wrists and ankles then threw me in the back of a squad car after checking me for weapons. I remember laying there in the back seat face down with my hands tightly secured behind my back. The hot sun was beaming in through the back window on top of me. My heart was pounding like terrible thunder, and my sweat was pouring out of every pore in my alcohol abusing 19 yr old body. Noise from constant shouting coming from everywhere, 50,000 different thoughts, lies to tell, and fears filling up my young and ignorant hellion head. Damn!…I was caught!… bye bye Mr. fkn tough guy… “Mommy!!!”

Published by Pack Redfeather

I am a walking contradiction of traditions some say. An African American and Native American Muslim poet with a personal life history as violently turbulent as a Storm. A visionary from the bottom of life’s social barrel striving to share the hope found in the light of faith through sometimes dark but real poetry. I’m a former member of the Bloods street gang, former serial bank robber, and both federal/state prison convict. I live on my mother’s tribal reservation of the Leech Lake band of Ojibwe in Minnesota.

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