Raindogblue

Taco Bell Car

I 'm biased.
I admit it.

I don't like Taco Bell cars.

I have no complaint with the company.
My beef is with a minute portion of their clientele.

The ones who scream, "Please stop me!
I'm hot. I don't have a license.
I don't have insurance,
and I am currently driving on the sidewalk
or the wrong side of street
or busting a light so late it's almost green.

The ones who drive throw away cars
straight off the auction lot at the tow yard:
unregistered with switched tags or poorly forged temps.

The cars, once stopped, I walk up on,
and see the backseat filled,
not with the detritus of daily life,
but trash tossed over the shoulder
and never visited again:
energy drink cans and soda pop cups,
fast food wrappers and potato chip bags,
cigarette butts and rotting food remains ,
piled hip high in stratified layers of decay
surrounding two, child, safety seats
the only refuge from the grime.

Rain on the Windshield

9MM II

Hot

A hot car, or property, is stolen.

A hot person is wanted with a warrant for his arrest.

The Fire

It's Friday,
the start of rush hour, the start of the shift,
and I'm rolling out of the barn.

Dispatch reports Fire responding
to possible business fire nearby.

I accelerate, Code Three,
to confirm the fire, and then
block the streets.

Eleven blocks away, I see
a stout column of smoke:
black and brown, thick and heavy.
Oil is on fire.

I request the only other clear car
to block westbound traffic.

I take the east.

There's been an explosion at the auto shop.
The building is engulfed in the flames.
Two engine companies are on scene.
The battalion chief, oxygen truck,
and fire investigators are on the way.

We give the firemen a two block cushion in each direction.

I'm coning off the streets
and taping the intersections
of the main street as fast as I can,
but I've dozens of cars
and a hundred pedestrians to redirect.

As I work my way to the fire,
an SUV drives over two fire hoses.
He's come from a side street I have yet to block.

I bark.

He's sheepish, apologetic.
He won't do it again.

The next car, another SUV,
stops on the first hose.
Wheels pressing down,
he watches the fire, dumbfounded.
He doesn't know what to do.

I yell. I bark.

GET OFF THE FIRE HOSE!
GET OFF THE FIRE HOSE!
GET OFF THE FIRE HOSE!

He looks at me stupidly.

I hussle. I shout.

PUT IT IN REVERSE!
YOU'RE ON THE FIRE HOSE!
GET OFF THE FIRE HOSE!
BACK UP!

He stares at me blankly.
I'm sucking in smoke.
Traffic has started to pile up behind him.

"I don't know where to go!" He cries.

JUST BACK UP FOUR FEET. I'LL MOVE THE CARS.

My face is enough to make the other cars reverse on the narrow street.

The SUV slowly backs away as I finally block the street.

Blue LED

For the Fire Fighters...

Don't drive over their hoses.

Thick, black smoke is the air.
The traffic patterns are awry.
I'm blocking off as many streets
as fast as I can, but
don't drive over the fire hoses.
Don't stop on the fire hoses.

I know the fire is inconvenient for you,
but the firemen are risking their lives
putting out a burning building
and they need their hoses more than
you need to get quickly home.

Another Complaint

I generated another complaint responding
to a family beef that started sideways.

Both halves were drunk and uncooperative.
Both stated they were only arguing.

After seeing no sign of an assault
or a struggle, I left with my cover.

Half an hour later, the male half
was calling my sergeant from the hospital
receiving stitches from a beating I never gave him,
but he claims came from me.

Spark Test Protocol

Map Light