On Slow Nights
On slow nights,
when there were less beatings,
and less fights,
the detective would take out
one of the unmarked police cars,
ride through a drug market area,
where the streets were black,
then ride through the meat rack,
where hustlers sold themselves outside
the gay pick-up bars,
trying to beat the clock,
bi-curious rocking in cars,
then he’d ride through the Chinese block,
a block that the Jews would fear,
they say everything bought in America
was made there,
in China,
so what are they doing here,
the detective knew
that everyone in these places,
were leaving behind footprints and traces,
each tour provided
another four or five faces,
for his memory bank,
victims or victimizers
who might one day matter
to an important case file,
it wasn’t a purely photographic memory
but it would lighten the pile,
and it was close enough,
it was all part of protecting
all the citizens’ rights,
and he just does this on slow nights.
© 2012 Frank Atanacio