April 3, 2011 - 0500

Sundays and Mondays are typically slow. Most of the business that can be open when I work, mainly bars, are closed or only really cater to locals who can't seem to give up the booze for even a single day. It's usually quite peaceful and calm, which led me to today's selection, the idyll. A type of poem that depicts a calm, usually pastoral, scene. There aren't any pastures or scenes of farming around here, but it was overall a quiet night. With one exception, narrated here.

Monday Idle Idyll

The breeze blew through the evening time

A gentle brush past shaven cheek

Another midnight shift was mine

The midpoint of my week

There were few cars upon the streets

The sidewalks had no citizens walking

A check of bars, where people meet

Found gentlefolk a-simply talking

Around and round I pushed my car

Unmarked and stealthy to the eye

Attempts to nab a bad guys car

Were futile under darkened sky

As I was giving up my hopes this eve

My cruiser set to park and idle

Partners voice cracked radio static weave

My way to him I made my sidle

The apparent drunk was flailing and failing

His tests afield showed him impaired

Agitation grew from his voice a-wailing

Myself and partner, we simply stared

After letting gentleman vent his frustrations apparent

The partner flew for his final option

My job, to calm a harried sir and about the cold we did lament

He knew we were merely working, at a job he could not shun

Upon return with box and mouth tubes

A steady stream of air he loosed

His non-intoxication bubble burst my partners views

Tired only and fear assuaged, his home he went to roost

Commended for his job well done, we parted

Partner and I. To the next call on the sheet

To finish tasks and end problems started

By others who dared not walk our empty streets