Cops and fireworks

Came across a poem yesterday by Chicago poeta Paul Martinez Pompa. I thought I was very powerful, with great reading pace. Checka:

3 Little Pigs

Me & uncle in a car when a police pulls us over yelling aiming his gun at uncle's head when second police comes with more sirens & fear & get down on the floor uncle tells me & don't move & I don't when the first police pulls uncle out pushes to the street & slugs his head POW! his back CLUNK! when third police arrives & now 2 police aiming 1 police spraying & 1 uncle with fire in his eyes with snot from his nose when at last a police lowers his guns says wait that's not the guy sorry amigo & they all leave.

    -Paul Martinez Pompa

This poem reminds me of a fourth of July maybe 15 years ago. My brother Aldo and I had gone to see some friends at someone's house and while we are there we find out that two our friends have some "real" fireworks in their car. They were two white kids from Michigan and every time they would go visit their grandfather, they would always manage to bring back some fireworks back. Within the next hour all of us had piled into their van and found a park to set off the fireworks. It couldn't have been more than 5 minutes since we set off the first glamorous firework when a sheriff pull in and turns red and blues on and of course like dumbasses we all jump right back in the van. 

The sheriff had a talk with our friends from Michigan, as they were a little older than us and would receive the citation, but what I remember most is when the sheriff came around the car and pocked his head inside and stared at all of us. Nobody had said anything and for whatever reason, he just began yelling at my brother Aldo, asking him: "What did you say?" What are you looking at? Do you know that I can take you to jail right now boy" I was sitting next to Aldo and was just looking at this poor face, full of fear and hatred, lowering his eyes as the Sheriff yelled at him, holding back his tears. Still today I feel like a coward for not saying something back to the Sheriff for yelling at my brother like for no reason at all. I always wondered why he chose yell at him and not at anyone else. I imagine if I were to travel back in time and get another chance, this time I'd yell back at that Sheriff say: "Fuck you puto, who do you think you are, just because you have some authority, you can't talk to people like that, we're not criminals". 

My poor brother finally broke into tears after the sheriff drove away. I remember putting my arms around him and telling him the sheriff was an idiot. All Aldo kept on saying was: "Why did he yell at me, I didn't say anything, I didn't do anything" while tears and snot kept dripping on his face. I think we all knew that poor Aldo took the heat for the mistake we made that night.  

My brother Aldo, what a great heart for a human!