Officer Down
Irene Hays

She held him as he died by the roadside,
his head cracked open like a melon,
the scent of fresh blood
and honeysuckle intermingled.
Even as he died
she sensed the birth of her resolve
to quit this service to the law,
enforcing it after mishap or misdeed,
forcing her to be less than human,
to ignore her own warm pulse
that throbbed to a crescendo
and led her on to knowing
that blood and honeysuckle
mean more to her than
paid work well done.

* * *

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