Thursday, May 6, 2010

F is for frisk

(to dance, leap, skip, or gambol, as in frolic;
colloquial: to search [a person] for concealed
weapons etc by feeling their clothing)

Where do I start?
At the top I suppose
where collars begin
and jackets and those
items of coverage
where guns, scissors, knives
wait until time comes
to threaten trapped lives.

I wouldn't dare skip
let alone dance
it's worth more than I'm paid
to miss my big chance
to avert a disaster
to catch before crime -
why's this woman complaining
she's frisked every time?

Some people just offer
a savvy mien
I do my job,
apprehending again.
Although we are random
in friskees we choose
I've selected a target
who I know won't refuse.

1 comment:

  1. Wickedly incisive! And I love the frisky way the poem moves. :) PS I preferred the ending that came through to me by email.