Shitty First Drafts

Self-Portrait in Ankara, Turkey - 19 December 2016 By Evan Barber

I woke up early this morning, shaved, showered, brushed my teeth; they gleam in the mirror. A dollop of pomade perfects my hair. I grab my tie, my badge, my gun. I am this city’s, this country’s protector from rot and rats and rancor.

I rush to the city. I can’t be late for the cameras; I lie in wait in the background, eyes vacillating across the photographs nailed to the white walls of the art hall. I adjust my tie. I draw a single finger across my hairline, replacing any loosened hair. I fold my hands, my thumbs pressed together tight, resting atop my stomach. I am just behind him. My position is not questioned. I am the protector of this place. They know this. I watch his jostling jowls prattle emptily and endlessly until I can take it no more. And it is time; I have waited so patiently and with such composure.

I was not there to hurt, - I could have pointed this holy sword towards the throats of more - But to protect this place, My place, Our place. Now I am red paint splattered against the blank canvas of this gallery’s walls. You may wash this self-portrait from its halls. You may forget this man; he is only a symbol. But please don’t forget Their crimes.

And please forgive mine.