Bolivia

for Lucy Dallas

Because they wanted to go home
and some bit part, a rat in deep cover,
raised the alarm (he had done harm
himself, but legally, and hid his shame)

or, falling in slow motion, the cashier,
shot through the heart for moving a finger,
reached with his last breath for the dead
guard’s Peacemaker and returned fire –

because of this taped riot I’m here
watching the sun dance to our own live show,
few words between us and the telling air,
the sum of what was not but is now clear,

how Redford in his larcenous prime
loved Katharine Ross the schoolteacher
and there was time to come for them
beyond the frozen fusillades of blame

as secretly we bless bad breaks,
like “Bolivia?”, higher and higher stakes,
because the luck that runs out once ran in
and once, one move, one word, is all it takes.