THE THIN BLUE LINE
Posted: Sun Jun 19, 2011 9:06 am
THE THIN BLUE LINE
She was over the death and destruction and pain
and the need to look over her shoulder.
Seemed nothing they did would ever break the chain
of violence, each day she grew older.
The Blue leather chair was showing signs of age,
on the desk before her the incident page
awaited her signature – blind to her rage.
From the tree of life leaves started falling.
If these walls could talk what a story they’d tell
of a day in the life of a copper.
A vain hope still surfaced occasionally. Well
at least she did nothing improper.
The old world was fading - now pure hatred reigned.
No honour in thieves and of those they restrained
there was no civility, no shred remained;
and each day became less enthralling.
She thought of her Gramps and remembered her Dad,
both policemen who’d been proud to serve.
She remembered their stories, recalled why she joined,
a career that she thought would not swerve.
And yet here she sat just ten years down the track
and her thoughts turned to leaving and not looking back
for each day was a trial. One she just couldn’t hack.
It was time to leave and stop stalling.
She got called to an incident down at the docks,
a man armed and dangerous there.
She jumped in the squad car with others thus called
and tried not to give in to despair.
She checked that her weapon was ready to roll.
They tried to talk him down, to gain some control
but their words of reason did not him console
and rifle shots saw bodies sprawling.
They gathered together at the fading of the light
to pay their respects, It was hard when
the sweet scent of roses drifted ‘neath starlight
and bird song was heard through the walled garden.
They mourned for a comrade who gave up her life.
They mourned for a daughter, a mother and wife.
They mourned for a world that seemed beset with strife
and the loss to all there was appalling.
She was part of the death and destruction and pain
and her bones now in dark earth would molder.
Seemed nothing they did would ever break the chain
of violence, but she’d never grow older.
The Blue leather chair still showed signs of age
an incident report form waited to engage
a pen with no lid to scrawl words on its page.
A closed case now – no need for recalling.
The thin blue ranks once more are in mourning.
Maureen Clifford © 06/11
She was over the death and destruction and pain
and the need to look over her shoulder.
Seemed nothing they did would ever break the chain
of violence, each day she grew older.
The Blue leather chair was showing signs of age,
on the desk before her the incident page
awaited her signature – blind to her rage.
From the tree of life leaves started falling.
If these walls could talk what a story they’d tell
of a day in the life of a copper.
A vain hope still surfaced occasionally. Well
at least she did nothing improper.
The old world was fading - now pure hatred reigned.
No honour in thieves and of those they restrained
there was no civility, no shred remained;
and each day became less enthralling.
She thought of her Gramps and remembered her Dad,
both policemen who’d been proud to serve.
She remembered their stories, recalled why she joined,
a career that she thought would not swerve.
And yet here she sat just ten years down the track
and her thoughts turned to leaving and not looking back
for each day was a trial. One she just couldn’t hack.
It was time to leave and stop stalling.
She got called to an incident down at the docks,
a man armed and dangerous there.
She jumped in the squad car with others thus called
and tried not to give in to despair.
She checked that her weapon was ready to roll.
They tried to talk him down, to gain some control
but their words of reason did not him console
and rifle shots saw bodies sprawling.
They gathered together at the fading of the light
to pay their respects, It was hard when
the sweet scent of roses drifted ‘neath starlight
and bird song was heard through the walled garden.
They mourned for a comrade who gave up her life.
They mourned for a daughter, a mother and wife.
They mourned for a world that seemed beset with strife
and the loss to all there was appalling.
She was part of the death and destruction and pain
and her bones now in dark earth would molder.
Seemed nothing they did would ever break the chain
of violence, but she’d never grow older.
The Blue leather chair still showed signs of age
an incident report form waited to engage
a pen with no lid to scrawl words on its page.
A closed case now – no need for recalling.
The thin blue ranks once more are in mourning.
Maureen Clifford © 06/11