A satirical poem on the difference between TV detective shows and the reality.

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After the trouble and grief there in Fergs',

I question my thoughts on cops in the 'burghs.

I'd always figured our police were just great.

Feeling and sporty and built for big freight.

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I mean, take all those folks on cool C.S.I. s

That flash their clean badges and great big blue eyes.

My, they look tough as two-hand their Glocks,

And they cook and play ball and darn their kids' socks.

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The lovelies on Bones indifferent observe,

The innards of victims, the craft of the perve.

They seem to like guys, and dress oh-so-well,

But wouldn't find bliss with Iowan swell.

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Then there's Arrow, with fine shafts a-flying.

His three-day beard and girls long-sighing.

He'd make short work of a mother-in-law,

Who said "Shave that chin, my daughter don't paw."

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Navy cops go 'round flirtin' and frettin',

Bad guys, great sex and villains a-gettin'.

In office and out they seem to enjoy,

The perks of good quads and tax-paid employ.

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(And let's not forget the murdered throughout,

Paid union wages to just lie about,

Eyes still as moss and yet looking great,

In wide pools of blood, their breath well abate'.)

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But with Ferg' it's quite clear that crimes won't get burst,

If you just tuck your shirt and part your hair first.

Down yonder child the bullets do lay,

Quick called mistake, gift-wrapped in cliche.

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Yes, I'm much troubled to see cops shoot first,

Ask questions later and skirt judgment's worst,

They have a good point, those protests so recent:

It ain't about service, but just being decent.

Authors Website: http://www.philipkraske.com

Authors Bio:

For a recording of this poem, go to my website: http://www.philipkraske.com/kraske-fiction/