Clouding In Frigid Air
The Chase...
The chase became a foot race,
the murderer could escape,
the detective’s breath
was clouding in the frigid air,
his heart was pounding
during these hours of despair,
his mind didn’t want to quit,
but his body would shout,
and his ass wanted to sit,
he suffered from fatigue and doubt,
it would be a cold case
lost on the shelf,
as the chase,
had become a world unto itself,
almost like spinning
in an orbit of its own,
with many chances to capture him,
blown,
and without the murderer,
all the victims’ names
would stumble toward oblivion,
it’s part of the crime games,
he scanned the street
saw a hooker bending toward an
old man’s feet,
he had the impulse to shake the girl,
because she ignored him,
even though she realized he was a cop,
but he hadn’t the time to stop,
he begged for God’s help,
God’s grace,
as he continued on the never
ending chase.
© 2012 Frank Atanacio