Stand Off

Standing in the cold,
soaking upward from the sidewalk
Through shoe soles on the way to bone,

The three of us huff together like black birds,
In somebody else’s front yard next to a stump:
TV, radio and print. The whole liberal
Media establishment.

The cops all have guns, and there’s more guns than cops,
But we don’t have guns, and tell jokes, and the cops glare at us,
Mostly me.
Nice to put a face to the name
They associate with stupid and gullible.

The adult child living at home has been drinking,
And threatened his ex-wife and his father with a shotgun,
That’s the reason for the snipers.

“He’s been having problems,” said a neighbor.
The cops evacuated her from home, smoking a long cigarette
—Wouldn’t give her name. Or the adult child’s name.
“I know what you’re about,” she said.

The cops don’t want us too close,
So the small town police chief briefs us
Every five minutes and says nothing.

A few months ago, another distraught man made threats
To kill himself;
The cops waited 12 hours before going in.
He took a fistful of methadone after drinking all night
Passed out on his side
For half a day.

They came in too late, found him on the floor.
Or just in time,
His face was green when they wheeled him
To the ambulance.
Doctors had to amputate his arm;
he’s still in the hospital, and may die.

An overhelpful man from the neighborhood
Brought coffee for the cops, and placed it on the stump.
The cops didn’t touch it, neither did we.
It sat there and got cold.

Rain starts and blots on the paper,
The pen scratches through the soggy spots,
Smearing ink. I can’t read my handwriting anyway.

“Officer safety,” Chief says, and other things.