Safety In Numbers
There’s a cop parked in the empty lot across the alley.
It’s been there the last two hours
and I’m glad it’s there.
Earlier this week there were three cop cars in front of the house
and another four down the street.
And yellow police tape across the steps of the triplex next to us.
Something’s going on.
When I asked the undercover detective in the car in front of the house about it,
he said they were removing the tape.
Seems there had been some evidence there.
“Evidence?” “What evidence?” I asked, in my most friendly, pleasant, suburban voice.
He wouldn’t say.
Which only makes me wonder more.
Was there a dead body?
A gun?
A baggie of pills?
What?
There weren’t seven cop cars on our street over a whiskey bottle left behind.
No,
something bad had gone down.
Something is still going down.
That’s why that cop is sitting in his car in the lot behind my house.
That’s why the street is so damn quiet today.
No Rap music blaring.
Everyone in hiding.
It’s cat and mouse time.
Who’s gonna move first?
I tell myself all of this police presence is a good thing.
That I’m safe.
But how safe can I really be
when half the cops in the city are patrolling my street?
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