Thursday morning dew

damp on his shoes

 

Cotton socks graze past grass tips

Leather holster holds to his hips

 

Squinting eyes tell passersby

he might’ve been up all night

 

Clumps of keys cling clang

against his hand and chain

 

Sacred badge on uniform sleeves

Shorts hit just above his knees

 

A subtle limp hints he might be spent

but nary a sign he’ll ever quit

 

Shower-damp hair parted to one side

Come what may what might he strides

 

 

© Candice Reineke 2021