Cop Show, a poem
Cityscape at dusk.
Pointing up at me
As I swoop down to the alley
Where the streetlights hit the rain
And the footsteps run away.
By a snazzy montage.
A line up of supposed criminalists
With their best side to camera.
Great muscle definition.
Fit, suave and competent.
I return to the scene of the crime.
Flash, bang, flash flashy flash bang.
Marking out the blood drops
A void in the spatter,
A scraped surface –
They never vanish without trace.
Jane or John Doe
Toe-tagged and hosed down
with clinical sympathy.
Through front-fastening specs
Life’s last chapter is read
And re-told in monochrome.
Cut to the streets of NYC.
He runs, we run.
Yellow cab, hot dog stand,
Steam through vents, a chase and
“If you’re innocent, why did you run?”
The next part is different.
The next part is human:
Follow the evidence rather than a hunch;
Cops have feelings too;
Our perp is escalating;
The unremarkable relative is the sociopath;
Sometimes they come for one of our own,
And that is unacceptable.
Scrutinized, bagged and labeled,
Science makes us able,
To rewind time,
To unwind crime.
They put the knife in his hand.
They put him at the scene of the crime.
They gave him the motive.
It was all an act.
The credits roll and I kill the TV.
I try not to think of the darkness.