Baby soft arms grip the razor crease of blue
Hugging fiercely, breathing deeply
Cleaning fluid, leather, brass polish
The smell of her Daddy.

Dinner table talk of the lighter side
Confusion over slang, a generation gap
Suspect, I’m all, I’m all, I’m all
Salty older officer, who’s Amal?

Wandering the nearly deserted hallways
Skidding around freshly waxed corners
The workout room, locker room, shooting range
The cars; gun racks, squawking radio, lights, sirens

Solemnly watching the gun go in the holster
The paint worn baton slides into its ring
Note cards, pens, keys in the pockets
Name tag and badge affixed to the fabric

He comes in late, watching her sleep safely
She turns over and smiles, baby teeth in the dark
He sighs and turns to leave, I love you Daddy
I want to be a policeman just like you

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