Raindogblue

Leaves, Fall, and Scatter

The remnants of fallen leaves

 scatter along the street

 like scores of mice

 scurrying from night's wind.

The Night Storm

The trees sway.

The leaves swirl and fall,

no match for the west wind

and the late October rain.

 

Recovery

A clear fall day becomes a crisp fall night.
The radio is silent. The streets are clear.

It's past the magic hour.

I'm prowling the side streets of the Breakers 
off the State  Highway looking for the dumped stolens,
the usual cars: Hondas, Corollas, and Camrys.

I start past an old pick-up parked like all the others on the street.

I stop. I know it's hot.

I type in the plate. The box confirms my instinct.
I call it in and recover the car.

Sliding into the Park

Two hours in to the shift,
I'm creeping along
the edge of Breaker Park.
I stop to watch the skaters stunt,
drive away, loop around.
and slide along the park again.

The skaters approach.

"There was a lady 
hiding in the bathroom.

She asked if you were gone,
and then took off running."

They point down the street.

I spot her rounding the corner.

It's Crazy Kate.
I've dealt with her for a decade.
She has an FTA for UUMV.

She's unhappy to be caught.
She thought she'd avoided
going to jail today.

Handful of Worms

It's late.
I'm prowling the North Village.

I spot a man with a flash light
standing in a front yard.

He squats, picks up something,
takes a step, scans the grass,
squats and picks up another thing.

I roll up.

Whatcha doin'?

He raises his arm, 
reveals a handful of worms.

"I'm lookin' for nightcrawlers.
I'm goin' fishin' in mornin'."

I nod.

Good Luck.

It's already morning.

Fast Figure Eights

In the West Village Park,
at night, inches above the pond, 
small bats fly fast figure eights
catching what bugs they can.

Flagged Down

In the West Village,
in front of the school,
I'm flagged down. 

A young man's found a lost dog.

It's friendly, collarless,
and it won't approach.

We can't corral it.

The city has no after hours 
animal control for non-dangerous dogs.

After fifteen minutes of trying,
it's time to move on.

I'll ask around.

He'll do the same 
in the South Village.

I look at him,
his car with East Coast plates,
and meet his gaze.

You live on Clark,
between 16th and 15th.

"How do you know that?"

I'm paid to know these things.

He pales, holds his breath.

"Am I in trouble?"

Naw, I took your roommate to detox.

His color and smile return.

"You're the one! 
He's no idea
what happened that night."

Well, let me tell you the story.

Duty

It's Friday, 
I'm working OT,
downtown, 
in the entertainment district. 

The detail gathers
to go bar to bar
to fly the flag,
to calm the clubs.

At the Aurora, 
where the go-go dancers
are dressed like half wookies
wearing nylons and short shorts,
it's mellow. It's secure.
Everyone's having a good time.
It's time to head to the next joint.

I'm last in line as we leave.

Walking through the crowd, 

I spot a subject 

rapidly approaching my six.

I turn, widen my stance

as a young gal runs

head first into my stomach

and the bottom of my ballistic vest.

She's tiny,

barely 5'3" in heels.

She grabs my shirt,

catches her balance,

and looks up with big eyes.

"Do you, do you want to dance?" she asks.

I smile. 

She's fifteen years my junior.

She's cute.

Sorry. No.

I nod my head to the departing detail

and take my leave.

Practice

Working OT, I spot a MB

at 5th + Dale gyrating his hips

in rapid fire pelvic thrusts.

He sees me, laughs and says,

"At 53, I gotta practice."

The Ped

I'm downtown working
the entertainment district OT.
I clear the barn
take a look around
when a ped steps out.

I have the green.

I hit the horn.

He turns, and yells,

"Cool it it!"

I jump out for a chat.

He's drunk.

He's already failed

the attitude test.

It's his first night in town.

He's already earned

a trip to detox.

His vacation isn't promising.