Rolling Hills
When he was with his family,
he never talked shop,
but this detective couldn’t stop
thinking about what happened
in that park after dark,
he was a father and husband by day,
and at night, a cop,
he wouldn’t have it any other way,
he was picnicking with his family,
on a sunny weekend morning in May,
over looking the rolling hills,
and he knew the drills,
how ironic to have such a remembrance
of a woman whose body had been discovered,
underneath leaves and branches,
but only slightly covered,
on these picnic grounds,
where children’s laughter
should have been the only sounds,
it was a memory attack,
right here in the rolling hills,
his eyes were drawn back
to the smiling face of his wife,
but his mind was now littered,
with the thoughts of the bloody knife,
sticking out the woman’s chest,
he was trying to contain that feeling,
he did his best,
his thoughts just kept on reeling,
then he took one last look
into the gleaming eyes of his child,
he smiled, the child smiled,
then the thoughts of death had been stored
in his head and filed,
nothing could be worse,
if a wife and child cannot come first.
© 2012 Frank Atanacio