The Stake Out
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In the last hour,
So many faces would pile,
But none fitting the profile,
It was boredom at its best,
As they parked on the corner,
Facing west,
It was a summer heat,
On a busy street,
Under the car sat a pool of water,
Condensation from a running air conditioner,
And a low humming sound,
Their radio crackled,
Followed by a ten-four,
On the ground,
Just under the driver’s door,
Was a pile of cigarette butts,
Some burning on the asphalt floor,
And weeds hanging on to dear life
By the roots,
Inside the car two middle aged men
Dressed in black suits,
Occupied the front seats,
Listening to the classic beats,
And nothing was looking up,
On the dashboard there was a Styrofoam
Coffee cup,
A doughnut that looked molded,
And a newspaper unfolded,
Nothing happened that day,
But their orders were to stay,
And luck just didn’t go their way,
Boredom would grow,
As their suspect was a no-show,
This was what the stake-out
Was all about.
© 2013 Frank Atanacio