the police are coming; should i scream or smile?

T.N

i. good cop

you watch as the others cash in

DUIs like lottery tickets, bribing off dreams

so they can sleep better at night. 

the first time you trail an escapee, the first

officer strangles streetlights out of his eyes.

as if those pale fingers conducted pain 

like copper wire; pain and all the numbness

left trembling in its wake.

after the late shift, the shadows circling your house

stare back at you with the bleached whites of their eyes

and only when you blink back do you realize

they are people. people who belt hymns of deliverance

at sunday service. people who wear the same night on their skin

you were taught to stop and search. 

a boy playing the balancing act of (in)visibility:

sweatshirt not quite large enough to hide

the fear. hands creeping for a gun. muffled terror

and then silence. your mind soaks adrenaline like a sponge

and his shirt the blood. a voice, your voice:

better mine than his.

ii. bad cop

you grew up knowing how to trade:

sister grabbed the scale with chubby fingers

and dished out a price for your offer.

years ago, you traded your career for a man.

the blood on your hands didn’t wash out

by the time you realized the whole force was stained.

you, too, are walking the tightrope,

head high and shoulders squared 

so you don’t lose balance. not like the others.

an oddity too kind during pullovers, too scared

to pull the trigger because of what your neighbors will say

and what the deputy will report. 

you have stopped sympathizing during trials

because they begin to look at you as a criminal.

how easily trust morphs into suspicion,

but not before your trust was traded

for the game.