You a deputy or a real deal sheriff?
You a stand in or the actual actor?
No blind spot, just the curve.
One’s willingness for pause
Then a super pulse. A real stupor, that.
Why the sirens? Better yet,
Shelf duty. Car patrol curbside.
A day’s calling, one-man parade,
no one there but you, beyond verbs.
We were on a stakeout.
I was reading up on Poets.org
All about the flames Marianne Moore
Didn’t have, and Robert Lowell
Did. The heaters in the van
Slowed and we didn’t want to
Steam the windows. Poems
Can, you know, heat things up.
We sat, a pair in plain sight,
Waiting for a man who would leave
His house. Clickity snap.
Got him. Got the poems too—
Surveillance to live by.