In this cobalt city
awash in phantom blue
there is only one detective that towers above them all
there is only one
staying up into the wee hours when all others are at rest.
It’s in a dark room where images become clear
the silence where whispers grow audible
and I stop getting calls from that infernal constable!
I swear
well no, I don’t, but you get what I mean.
Have you ever had a pesky parent or significant other or obnoxious client enter your office over and over again in the span of 10 or 15 minutes only to break your train of thought so much it takes another 30 to settle in only for them to barge in again and then you can’t go back to what you were trying to do for a few hours, all because you can’t keep having to fall back to make your way to where you were? Police. You love ‘em. You hate ‘em. Human behavior is analog. You can’t neatly pack it up until all its pieces are spread out like a messy collage inching closer and closer into a cohesive picture of criminal buffoonery.
Tonight
I’m on the hunt
the caps have only got a hunch
but I’ve got my magnifying eye on some developing clues
and under the light of this blazing full moon
those hoodlums won’t know what hit ‘em but a silhouette in a fedora in high heels and a badge
Oh, the officer of the peace gets to shine the light of a cool night of justice in the whites of their eyes
and click cuffs as they are shuffled to the back of the car that will take them from operating in darkness to suffering in it.
However
with each illicit mug that is rolled away
awash in the light of the blue moon
Lady Phantom looms
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For more of Grant Hope, you can find books, audio visual poetry, and his “Poetry Respite” newsletter at his website: granthopestudios.com