I won’t shoot myself

in the temple, I won’t even shoot myself

from the back, nor will I hang myself

with a garbage bag, and if I do,

I promise you it won’t be

in a police car with handcuffs on

nor in the cell of the police station of some town

whose name I only know

for having to go through it

To come back home. Yes, I may be in danger

But I promise you, I trust the worms

living under the planks

from my house they will do what they have to do

to the corpse of an animal more than I trust

in which an agent of the country’s law

I close my eyes as I would

a good christian, or cover me with a sheet

so clean that even my mother

I would tuck myself in it. When it kills me I will

like most americans,

I promise you: with tobacco smoke

or choking on a piece of meat

Or so broke that I’ll freeze

in one of those winters that we insist

in calling the worst. I promise you that if you hear

that I have died near some

policeman, so that policeman killed me. Ripped me off

of us and left my body, which is,

no matter what they taught us,

bigger than compensation

that a city offers for a mother to stop crying,

and more beautiful than the gleaming bullet

drawn from the folds of my brain.