Should’ve Been a Writer, Because Bleeding Sucks
Busy night.
Long night.
Exhausted.
So many calls.
Robbery.
Domestic.
Juveniles.
Drunk driver.
Finally,
Break time.
Coffee, sounds good.
Window down.
Night air.
Cool.
Damp.
Traffic light.
Winking, red.
Right turn.
Skinny dog in alley.
Limping.
Bakery.
Dumpster.
Scraps.
Wino in doorway.
A smile.
No teeth.
A nod.
A car.
Two teens.
A nervous glance.
Speed limit.
Exactly.
Mirror.
Tail lights.
Brake lights,
Signal light.
Left turn.
Gone.
Steam, rising from storm drain.
Wispy tendrils,
Melt into black sky.
Radio, crackle.
“Fight-in-progress.”
“Tip-Top Bar and Lounge.”
“Weapons involved.”
“Knives.”
“10-4. Enroute.”
Blue lights.
Siren.
Gravel, crunches.
Siren, stops.
“Hurry, Officer!”
Crowd, circled.
Two men.
Metal, flashes.
Step.
Grab.
Wrist turn-out.
Take-down.
Knife in hand.
Suspect on ground.
Handcuffed.
Blood.
Everywhere.
Mine!
Hospital.
Stitches.
Gun hand.
Again.
Should’ve been a writer,
Because bleeding sucks.
