Raindogblue

Gobble Gobble

 

On Turkey Day, Kenny cajoled the other officers to say, "Gobble, Gobble," on the air.

Before the homicide, half the officers, mostly the senior officers, gave radio a "Gobble, Gobble."

 

 

Gru

 

Saturday, a full squad of officers were stuck

on an elevator between the sixth

and seventh floor for half an hour.

 

I said to Gru, In Romania (his homeland), this would never happen.

Gru replied, "Let me tell you about elevators in Romania.

We have two types: ladders and stairs."

 

 

 

Spiraling

 

Mia says, “I don’t want

to be a shoplifting piece of crap.”

She tells me, “I used to be a real person.

I had a job, two cars,

and a savings account.

Addiction took that all away. “

Mia is homeless, pregnant,

and hooked in the back

of the prowler on theft charges.

She’s shy of $800 in cosmetics

from a high end store.

Mia says she steals 1–2 times a week.

Her on again, off again, boyfriend gives her a list.

She says, “I don’t want to steal,

but my ex will hurt me: bruise my eyes, face.”

She doesn't like getting her "ass beat."

Mia says she uses everyday.

It helps her keep awake, so no one

will attack her or steal

from her when asleep on the street.

She says, “I don’t want to feel high,

feel out of control. I'm tired of being

a victim of my situation."

 

 

Unicorn of the Sea

A quintet of twenty-something’s

are running around downtown

in animal themed pajamas.

I smile at one

as she walk by

I like that you’re a unicorn.

She flips up her hood and grins,

“ I am not a unicorn,

I’m a narwhal!

I’m the Unicorn of the Sea!

 

 

 

 

Thanksgiving

 

Due to staffing shortages, only one officer will be allowed to take Thanksgiving off.

Straight Pipe had the seniority to be selected. G, Midnight Man, and I are all working. 

 

 

Breaking A Beef

 

 

It’s dry. It’s dark. I’m on 5th out with a down drunk as a beef breaks around me.

I know the parties, a family of panhandlers and their extended entourage. I’ve checked on them regularly for the last three years.

I calm the chaos, separate the male half, and walk him back from the rest.

Goon slides in as cover.

He says, “He’s suppose to have a gun. “

I focus the man’s face and hands.

You have a gun?

“No. I normally carry it here. “

He pats a padlocked, empty, pouch I. The front of the shoulder bag slung across his chest.

Can I pat you down and check?

He says, “Yes.”

It’s in his right front pocket, a loaded Beretta nine.

When I take him to jail, he says, “At least it’s you arresting me.”