My life would never be the same.
Ever.
The news would sizzle my brain like a batter acid lobotomy.
Overwhelm - overload
The flashing green light on my answering machine
prefaced the unimaginable, the unthinkable,
the un-fucking-believable.

Northridge Trauma Center - 1:00 A.M.:
Is this Mr. Rock? One moment please...
She was stabbed tonight, sir. Lower abdomen
got her in surgery now, as a matter of fact.
C'mon down, step right up,
and see it with your own eyes.
29 and with child,
five-foot-one, 105 pounds
and now 40 bucks lighter.

Blood on the cement
Blood on her clothes
Blood on her hands -
sticky underneath her nails

Yes, sir -
C'mon down, step right up.
We've got tubes, like plastic pythons
jammed down a throat; A siphon, a vacuum -
a full-throttle bottle rocket-like gizmotron
sucking blood into a hanging plastic bag
behind her bed.

Lottsa blood
Rich blood
Deep, red blood
Blood from inside of her,
now outside,
in a fucking bag
for all to see, sir

C'mon down, and bring your friends
but don't delay.
She's drugged, in a deep sleep,
out for the count, so to speak,
with eyes swollen shut like a 12th round Joe Frazier.
Lips cracked and pale
And skin from Sicilian olive to
hospital yellow.

Step - Right - Up!
But hurry...it doesn't look good.
It's a two-for-one deal tonight, sir.
Be here in 20 minutes and
maybe you'll be able to see your son's quick
entry/exit through this plane;
A quick flash of purple and red,
clasped between white latex gloves
No pictures, please.

So jump in that car and drive in a rush,
through Speed Racer highways and 17 red lights,
through the damp valley air and
the clattering of your feet through a silent parking lot
Down sterile white hallways by stone-faced interns;
From the 101 to the I.C.U.
Where the detectives are waiting with a blood-splattered dress,
Gucci purse and ball cap.
They'll show you, I bet.
And her father's in tow, as well,
shaking his head with bewildered eyes...you know

What about the man of the hour? You got it.
At large - out there, in the LA night,
with a gooey blade in a near-by dumpster -
40 bucks richer.

But don't be distracted with that.

You wanna be here,
with the police
and the media
and the misty-eyed nurses
who all think it's a shame.
And hey, she might even wake up for a second,
and who knows?
Maybe you'll get a salty-breathed "Hello,"
or an "I love you,"
or maybe just a "Sorry it didn't work out."

And then you can do an interview